Squirrel: Hoist The Colours
by ICRepresentative
Summary: The crew, Will, Elizabeth, Barbossa, and Squirrel have braved many dangers to save Jack Sparrow. But with Beckett and Jones controlling the seas, its far from over. Its up to the pirates of the Black Pearl to make a stand, and to save the ones they love.
1. Nowhere to Cower

**Disclaimer**: Dead men tell no tales? I beg to differ.

**A/N**: Welcome back! Just in case you're new, here's the rundown: a girl named Squirrel has joined the crew of the _Pearl_ on their adventures. Find out more about her from the previous two fics about her, _Deux_ and _To World's End_. Why have I split the story? Well, mostly because I thought _To World's End_ was getting too long, and it would be a bit of a bother to have to cycle through over 35 chapters just to get to the stuff that's happened in the movie.

Anyhoo, to both new readers and old friends, welcome! And enjoy!

Rated for cussing and adult themes.

* * *

The tiles and the thatching of the roofs beneath her hands and feet made the going hard, but Squirrel was determined. Vaulting, flipping, throwing herself across the distance, she drew ever closer to the streets where the bathhouse stood. Where her friends were having parley with Sao Feng; where men from the East India Trading Company were headed. 

Squirrel leapt down from the roof, tucked and rolled along the floorboards, then flipped lightly to her feet and kept running. Street-level had never been so intimidating. She forced aside the memory of Xin Fu's men as best she could as she ran through the shadows and across the boardwalks. She couldn't afford to be distracted. She had to get to Barbossa, had to warn him…

As she ran, the fog on the bay revealed many more ships flying that EITC flag. There were many of those ships in the harbour - huge war brigs, each with fearsome racks of cannon and each of intimidating size. Squirrel paused a moment to let her eyes and ears tell her what was happening below.

Military footsteps beat out the time, all over Singapore. Squirrel caught her breath at the mere number of platoons she could see, at the uniforms that marched through the shadows. How had she missed those? How had she not seen that the Company was already on the island? She'd seen one ship, and thought that was all. But there must have been ships docked on the other side of Singapore as well. She'd been so busy caught up in her plan and her role she hadn't seen anything else. And this was the result.

Beckett's net was closing tight around them. They were trapped like birds in a cage. If that was the case, then there would be no warning Barbossa about this. He probably already knew.

A familiar tune on a music box caught Squirrel's attention. She looked across the water. A figure - it took Squirrel a moment to discern whether they were man or woman - was walking slowly across one of the bridges, wheeling a cart - a street organ. Her conical straw hat was down low and her dress was all a-tatter. Singing birds in cages hung for sale, a parrot perched on the cart's edge, and a well-dressed monkey sat beside the organ box, paws on the handle.

Squirrel knew that monkey, that parrot, that woman, and that song. The music box was in Tia's hand, the gold heart-shaped amulet that played that haunting lullaby.

"_Wind and tide both take me far_," Squirrel sang to herself, as she slid down off the roof and moved cautiously through the shadows to the woman's side, "_Far away from where you are_…"

The music box snapped closed. "I t'ought you 'ad a job to do, Miss Greeh," Tia's voice purred, as she walked slowly on, pushing the cart before her.

"Pieces of eight?" Cotton's parrot added.

Squirrel kept pace in the shadows of the kampongs, keeping an eye and an ear out for the Company's men, as well as Sao Feng's. She wasn't going to get caught again. "We've got trouble," she said. She was wary about how much she could trust Tia, and for good reason. Squirrel didn't want to ask for help, but she knew that she might have to.

"I ken see dat," Tia murmured. The monkey chattered and pointed at Squirrel. Squirrel drew the back of her hand across the side of her face. It came away bloody.

"It's not mine," Squirrel assured them, wiping as much of it from her face that she could. She shuddered slightly, remembering how close those men had been, how painful their grasp on her…

"Where's Mistah Tur-nah, den?"

There was something in her tone which infuriated Squirrel. _She already knows_. "Where do you think? He's been captured."

Tia clucked her tongue. "Dis is not good. Barboosa and Miss Swann have just reached deh bat'ouse. All deh crew are dere, too." Tia's inky eyes glittered from under the brim of her hat. "What we planned hinged on you and Will-yam doin' what needed to be done."

"I know!" Squirrel snapped, tension making her lose her feigned manners. "We tried! But…" She fell silent as a platoon of soldiers marched by. They paid no attention to the woman with the cart, nor did they peer into the shadows. Squirrel froze and held her breath nonetheless.

"How long to port?" Cotton's parrot asked, tilting its head. The monkey folded its arms, and sounded as though he, too, were scolding her. Barbossa's plan was certainly, by now, unravelled.

"What do I do?" Squirrel asked, looking across the water towards the bathhouse. "What can I possibly do now?"

"You already 'ave everyt'in' you need, Miss Greeh."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

One of the cords at Squirrel's waist snapped, and the fireworks fell free, hanging by a single thread from her belt. Squirrel looked down, surprised, then looked back to Tia. The woman was leading her cart away into the night; Jack was turning the handle of the organ grinder, and an old familiar song began to fill the air.

"So, it's fighting, then?" Squirrel called softly.

"Wind in the sails!" Cotton's parrot called back, then started singing. Squirrel turned and walked away, the song echoing in her head.

_Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colours high. Heave, ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die…_

It was and old song. A song for pirates to sing. A song of defiance. And a song that signalled the end of a pirate's life, the end of an age. Barbossa had handed Squirrel a piece of eight, one night, back when they were on the _Diana_, and she had heard that silver coin sing. That same ringing tune. She'd asked what it meant. He'd told her that it was time. She didn't need to ask anything more. She knew the stories. She'd heard them all on Tortuga.

The Brethren. Shipwreck Cove.

Squirrel drew her dagger, and cut off one of the fireworks from the string, lit it from one of the paper lanterns, and threw it into the air. If nothing else, it would distract the Company men. There would be a fight out here sooner or later. Best be prepared now for the worst. She leapt up onto the rooftops once more, taking one of the lanterns with her, and moved onwards.

After a moment, she paused, and looked back.

The firework had clattered to the ground, silent. Squirrel watched it a moment, puzzled. It hadn't worked.

"A fluke," she murmured to herself, then cut, lit and threw the next paper tube in the chain. Squirrel watched it. This one flew a little further, but like the first, it did nothing more than land silently. "Oh, come on!" Squirrel pulled the whole chain of fireworks from her belt. "What's wrong with these?"

The monkey and the parrot appeared out of the shadows, clambering and fluttering towards her. They watched her curiously as Squirrel split one of the fireworks open, and squinted in the moonlight at the gunpowder. It was dry, and it was real gunpowder… so why didn't it explode? She threw the cut one aside with a disgusted noise, and tried another. _Third time's the charm!_ It fell too short, and landed this time in the water. And still nothing happened. Squirrel grit her teeth.

Jack leapt up onto her shoulder, and Cotton's parrot waddled across the thatching towards her. They looked out at the fallen fireworks, then back at her, curious.

Squirrel pictured the merchant who'd sold her the fireworks. "Of course!" she snarled, "I see how it is! You sell fireworks that don't blow up to the white girl, is that it?"

"Piece of shit," Cotton's parrot seconded, with almost manic glee.

"You tell anyone I taught you to say that," Squirrel said, flinging two more fireworks, watching them do the same as the first three, "And I will never feed you again. Savvy?" She bit her lip, suddenly alarmed with herself. _Savvy? Where had that…?_ It was a foolish question. She knew exactly where it had come from.

"Wind in the sails," Cotton's parrot sighed.

The monkey gave a screech, and leapt off of Squirrel's shoulder, scrambling down from the rooftops and vanishing into the night. Squirrel watched him go, frowning. _Where are you off to?_ Then she sighed._ Fine, you go. I'll stay here, with the explosives that don't explode._ She examined the last three fireworks left on the rope. "What do you think?" She looked down at the parrot. "Should I keep trying?"

The parrot hopped up onto Squirrel's arm, and clawed up to perch on her shoulder. "Yardarm to mizzenmast," it murmured.

Squirrel sighed. Yes, it would be madness to stop now. She lit two, threw them, and watched as they landed silently on the opposite shore. Nothing. Squirrel felt like screaming; she gave a helpless, angry sigh instead. She sat down and hugged her knees, watching the steam rise from the bathhouse. _I can only hope you're doing better than I am, boys. I hope you're able to salvage this mess_.

A platoon was rounding the corner. And at the head of the men in uniform was a man she knew. Squirrel's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the man in brown. "You," Squirrel stared across the distance at the lean, scarred man. "You're with the Company?"

She'd sworn she'd never set foot on Tortuga again. So when they had returned there, to fulfil the quota Davy Jones had demanded, Squirrel had remained on the _Pearl_. But when Miss Swann had come and held Jack's compass, Squirrel had hung above their heads, watching from the rigging of another ship. She'd caught glimpse of a man watching from the shadows. A man with the face of a killer. She saw him now, moving as slick as oil as he lead a platoon of men in uniform. They were heading straight for the bathhouse.

They opened the doors silently, and raised their pistols to fire at the oblivious guards.

There wasn't time to doubt. Squirrel lit the final firework and threw it as hard as she could. It landed on the street, in the doorway of the bathhouse and just behind the men. It skittered across the cobblestones, then rolled, rolled, rolled…

There was the sound of a gunshot, and a blinding flash of light.

"Yes!" Squirrel crowed. But it was a short-lived triumph. The sound of the exploding firework prompted - or frightened - the Company men to fire their own weapons. From the bathhouse rose shouts and screams alike as the battle was joined. Through the smoke and the steam, Squirrel could discern little. She needed to get closer.

"Come on," she quickly hauled herself to her feet, undoing the buttons of her shirt and tearing at the cloth that bound her sword as she did so, "Let's get down there and help them out." The time for subterfuge was over. Whether they had managed to secure the charts was a moot point. Now was the time to fight.

The fight was spilling out of the bathhouse and onto the streets. Barbossa led the charge, both swords flashing silver and his laugh loud over the shouts and the screams of the fighters and those not involved. After him came Elizabeth, Will, and a handful of Chinese pirates, all holding their own. The fight was spilling out into the street, but no-one knew whose side anyone was on. The East India Trading Company revelled in the chaos, taking down anyone who got in their way. Whores squealed and ran for cover and merchants abandoned their carts and stalls as Sao Feng's men, the Pearl's crew, and the Company militia clashed with steel and musket shot.

Squirrel slid down from the rooftops, filling the gaps between her fingers with throwing daggers from the sash across her chest. She scanned the crowds quickly, looking for a target. She found the man in brown, that lean killer. He was being followed by another familiar face - one of the Sisters of the Red Flower, one of the whores who worked for Sao Feng. She came up behind him, a knife in her hand, screaming vengeance. The man turned on his heel, took hold of the woman by her shoulders, and threw her against a wall between two stalls. She slumped, stunned, then screamed and tried to rise to her feet to attack him again.

He shot her in the head and moved on.

Squirrel gasped, horrified. _You heartless bastard!_ She grit her teeth and clenched the daggers in her fist tighter.

"To the port side, navvy!" Cotton's parrot cawed in her ear. Squirrel pivoted on her foot and flung one arm wide in a sweeping gesture. The daggers buzzed through the air and imbedded themselves into the uniform of a Company soldier who'd been creeping up on her. The man screamed and staggered, falling into the sea and floundering there.

A large explosion tore the night, and Squirrel cringed and ducked. For a moment, she heard a song playing in her head - that delicate music box - and had the nagging feeling that Tia had something to do with the flames and smoke that were rising from the streets close to the bathhouse.

_Figures_, Squirrel thought wryly, _I get fake fireworks, and she says that's all I need. But she's able to blow up half the city?_

The monkey chattered from somewhere to her left. Squirrel looked over, and saw Jack waving to her. With a brief glance towards Barbossa, who was making his way across a bridge in her direction, she ran to join Jack, the parrot fluttering after her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The monkey grinned, and held up something in his arms. It was nearly as big as he was. He chattered proudly as Squirrel took the large firework from him.

She stared a moment. "Where on earth did you get that?"

The monkey pointed across the water. Squirrel peered through the night. It didn't look any different. Just another kampong, a warehouse down by the water. But there were crates stacked outside and on the balcony, and strings of fireworks hung from the rafters and the beams.

Squirrel looked between the monkey, the warehouse, and the firework she held in her hand. And then, slowly, a grin crossed her face. "Good boy," she murmured.

The shouts and cries from the streets grew louder, and closer. Barbossa's dark form cut its way across the platforms and bridges of the kampongs, ever closer to her. Company soldiers were converging all around him. There were too many here, and more on the way.

Squirrel clenched the firework in her fist. "Let's even up this fight a little, shall we?" She knelt down, placed the firework carefully on the railing, and sighted along it until it was aimed straight for the warehouse.

Cotton's parrot bobbed up and down on her shoulder, then leapt off to do a short dance on the railing. "Prime the cannons!" It cackled, "Ready, aim, fire!" Jack leapt from her shoulder, clambered up to one of the lanterns, and returned a moment later with the candle in his grip. He grinned his simian grin; Squirrel grinned back.

"Would you like to do the honours, my friend?" The monkey bowed, then set the flame to the string.

"Fire in the hold!" Cotton's parrot laughed, flapping its wings.

The string hissed as it burned, and then the whole firework shot out and away, screaming over the water and through the combatants, leaving a plume of red fire behind it. Squirrel held her breath as she watched it fly over the bridge, between Barbossa and a soldier, then she let out a crow when the night was torn apart by light and fire and noise. The whole fireworks warehouse was engulfed in a rosy bloom of orange and yellow and white, and spat off sparks of every colour and hue into the night air.

"Yes!" Squirrel pumped a fist in the air; Cotton's parrot flapped his wings and crowed; the monkey leapt up and down.

After dispatching his opponent, Barbossa glanced over from where he stood, a grin on his face. "Thank ye, Jack." He nodded his head, adding, "And t' ye too, angel. Good t' see ye're still with us."

Squirrel watched the fire burn and spread a moment longer, then drew her sword and hurried to Barbossa's side, the parrot perched on one shoulder and the monkey on the other. Barbossa gave her a curious look as she approached.

"What happened?" A shadow cast by the brim of his hat seemed to make his ice-blue eyes glow and glitter. If there was any time at all that the man Squirrel knew from the stories, and the man she'd known from the voyage, could possibly converge, then this man here, tonight, was him. Captain Hector Barbossa.

Squirrel shrugged stiffly. "Unforseen complications. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Barbossa grinned suddenly. "This be the most fun I've had in years!" He laughed, then pushed Squirrel aside. His sword flew, ringing pure and silver against the blade of the Company officer who had followed behind her. Squirrel raised her own sword, and fought with a man that came from around the corner behind Barbossa. The man looked startled to be fighting a woman; Squirrel took advantage of that, and slammed the hilt of her sword in his face. The man fell backwards, vaulting over the edge of the platform and landing in the sea.

"Time to get out of here?" She asked Barbossa conversationally, as he, too, finished off his opponent.

"Aye," he nodded, leading her on through the shadows, "But a ship and a crew might come in handy fer that!"

"A pity that that's what we're lacking!"

Elizabeth and the rest of the crew arrived from around the corner. The crew looked to Squirrel, relieved; she nodded to them, glad for their concern and glad to see them, as well. Squirrel glanced to Elizabeth, if only for politeness' sake, then halted, scandalised. "What are you wearing?"

Elizabeth looked humiliated. "They took my clothes." She tugged at the hem of the Chinese jacket with one hand, trying to cover herself a little more decently. Squirrel gave a 'humph', then turned back and concentrated on the chaos around them. She was just in time to see Will emerge from the shadows, a handful of Chinese warriors at his heels and a long bamboo scroll clutched in one of his hands. Squirrel's eyes locked onto it, and her mouth went dry.

_Davy Jones' Locker._

Barbossa looked and sounded surprised. "Ye got the charts?"

Will nodded. "And a ship and a crew as well," he motioned to the men behind him. One of the men nodded in silent, stoic agreement.

"What about Sao Feng?" Elizabeth asked, worried. Musket shot and swords clashing still tore through the night behind them; cannon fire from the ships in the harbour tore up the kampongs and dockside buildings further along the coast.

"He will stay behind and cover our escape," Will said calmly, "And he'll meet up with us at Shipwreck Cove." His eyes flicked briefly to Squirrel; she smiled knowingly at him.

_Making a deal with Sao Feng beforehand was quite convenient for us, ey, William?_ It had been organised before with Sao Feng that William would claim the charts. Squirrel, Sao Feng and Will had planned this - the two _ang moh_ knowing the ends, and the Chinese lord providing the means. In exchange for Jack Sparrow, Sao Feng had promised the charts. _And it looks like he came through with his part of the deal._

_Now it's just up to us to uphold ours._ Squirrel's smile vanished, and she felt her heart clench cold.

"Very well. Let's go," Barbossa lead the way through the night. Squirrel sheathed her sword, and started to follow behind him with the rest of the crew. But she paused a moment, and looked back. Elizabeth and Will stood, staring at each other. Squirrel frowned slightly at the look that passed between the two of them. Then Will took his fiancée by the arm and led her onward, after the rest of the crew, down to the docks.

_Don't betray us, William_, Squirrel thought darkly as the two of them passed her. _We've come too far to go back now_. She spared a final glance to the streets of Singapore, bidding them farewell, before she, too, turned her back on them.

Singapore wasn't the end of it. It was just the beginning.

_

* * *

_

_Dreams are disappointing things sometimes_, Squirrel thought with distaste, _When they come true_.

The ship moored in the harbour was one of those Asian ships she'd admired when they first arrived in Singapore. But it was anything but beautiful. Squirrel's excitement had all but vanished. This ship had none of the delicacy or grace or clean-cut lines of the other junks in the harbour. This ship was broken and old and patched in every possible place. The sails had fist-sized holes punched in them at every span. The ropes were old and worn. The rivets and moorings and caps were rusted near through. It stank of fish. Squirrel doubted if the thing could even float in open water. This junk was, to put it plainly, a complete junk.

Yet they called it the _Hai Peng_. The Sea Phoenix.

_It would take a very large fire to have anything decent reborn out of this mess_, Squirrel thought morosely. But it was a fitting-enough name. Sao Feng had told her of dragons and phoenixes not too long ago.

As Singapore slid away in the darkness behind them, Squirrel slowly felt her discomfort vanish. Perhaps she'd been too harsh in her original judgement of the _Hai Peng_. Of course, it wasn't the prettiest ship, or even very well maintained. Her sails were torn, her planking was loose, and her timbers were warped. She obviously had not been treated with much care, and looked not to have much life left in her. But she was a ship. And Squirrel felt free for the first time in over a week. Land was not the place for her. It was the sea she called her home. And on the open water was where she felt truly free.

_Here's to freedom, then_, Squirrel thought. _Please last a little while longer, for my sake?_ She crossed her fingers of one hand, and rapped her knuckles against the railing with the other, then smiled wryly to herself before turning back to the ship.

Will stood near her, looking darkly back to Singapore. The flames from the distant burning warehouses reflected in his eyes, and he held the charts tightly in both hands. Squirrel approached him, smiling.

"So… now we have the charts, and we're out of Singapore," she said, her voice low but merry. "Who would have thought it would have been so easy?" Will didn't answer her; he brooded in silence. Squirrel hesitated a moment, glancing around to check that none could overhear her, then she continued. "Sao Feng came through with his end of the bargain. Surprising. I didn't think he could be trusted. But it's a pleasant surprise, and to our advantage as well, so I'm not complaining."

Will still said nothing. Squirrel followed his gaze across the water. The war brigs of the East India Trading Company were moored all about Singapore harbour, but none of them seemed to notice the lone Asian vessel gliding through the shadows and the night. There was more than enough to worry about on shore.

"Looks like we're slipping through their net again." She laughed, but Will didn't laugh with her. He just tightened his grip on the charts slightly and set his shoulders.

Squirrel sighed, puzzled at his behaviour, then recalled something. "William, here." She pulled something from her sash. "I believe these are yours. Don't worry; I took good care of them."

Will finally looked at her - or rather, in her direction. His eyes focused intently on the two wedding rings that hung from the leather band. Will had left them in her care, before this night had begun. He now accepted them, and held them in his open palm a moment, staring at them.

Squirrel bit her lip. There was something she needed to say to him, but she didn't know how to start. _How do you thank someone from saving you from rape? _She tried to find the words, then smiled and decided to speak her mind. Will was her friend. He'd understand. "William, there's no way for me to express how grateful I am. You showed up just at the right time." For a moment, the memory Xin Fu's men cast a pallor over Squirrel's slowly-buoying mood. She banished the thought by tracing her eyes across the shape of Will's face. She smiled again. "I can always count on you to save the day, William. You're still a knight in shining armour."

"This has to stop."

His words weren't harsh, and neither was his tone. But Squirrel froze as though he'd struck her.

Will clenched his fist around the rings; the leather band hung down from between his knuckles. "This can't continue, Miss Grey. This has to stop. I can't… I can't be seen with you any more." He glanced to her, finally tearing his eyes away from the darkness. But his eyes were dark in themselves.

"I appreciate all you've done to help me," he said, gesturing with the charts, "But…" He shook his head and turned away from her. His eyes went to the prow, where Elizabeth stood. "But," Will continued, "There's something… I need to be doing with what little time we have left."

Squirrel remained silent.

"If I'm to lose her before this voyage's end," Will said, his voice barely a breath, "Then I need the chance to say goodbye to her. This… this thing between us… It can't continue. This has to stop, Miss Grey." He kept talking, about how he still needed her help, but the words seemed dull to Squirrel's ears. What he'd said already was more than enough.

"I understand." Squirrel felt herself speak the words, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere else. They sounded so calm, and came from an emotionless face. She wanted to scream, or cry, or rage, or something. He was pushing her away, casting her aside after all she'd done. Ignoring - forsaking - their friendship, their closeness, their plans. And for what? Elizabeth? That man-stealing, fickle, faithless trollop? Why? Why?

_Because he loves her._

Will turned to Squirrel, hearing something in her voice. His eyes filled with apology, with a plea to be understood. But Squirrel would have none of it. She turned and walked away from him, before either he or she said anything further. She didn't want his apology; she didn't need his sympathy. He'd said his peace, and it was time for her to accept it.

But she'd be damned if she did without a fight.

_You should have just left me to my fate if you had planned on being so cruel, Will_, Squirrel thought bitterly. _Why save me to do this to me?_ _I thought, at least, that you valued our friendship. Seems I was wrong._

She went to the prow and stared out over the black water, at the blackness where no stars shone and no waves could be seen. Just blackness. She folded her arms tight against the cool of the wind, and hunched her shoulders tight. She wanted to shrink into nothing and be lost. And it wasn't as though she would be missed by anyone. Everyone had their friends to look out for. Squirrel had no-one.

_A woman of the sea will always be alone._ _I was foolish to think otherwise_.

Behind her, Squirrel heard the crew moving about the ship, standing at their stations and pushing the _Hai Peng_ further and further into the night. She smelled herbs on the wind, and knew that Tia Dalma was standing nearby. Squirrel half-glanced sideways, and saw the voodoo woman staring out to sea on the port side. Elizabeth came up and stood beside Tia. Squirrel turned and glared back at the night.

"There's nowhere left for Sao Feng to cower. Do you think he will honour the call?" The lovely Miss Swann's voice grated on Squirrel's raw nerves, but Squirrel waited to hear what Tia's answer would be.

"I cannot sey. Dere is evil on deh seas dat even deh most staunch and bloodt'irsty pirates 'as come to feer." Neither woman spoke again; when Squirrel glanced around again, Elizabeth had vanished. Most likely to find some decent clothes.

Tia looked away from the sea and caught Squirrel's eye. She frowned slightly at the hard expression on Squirrel's face, but said nothing. Squirrel tightened the fold of her arms and looked out at the night.

Tia's dressed swished lightly, like foam on the seashore, across the _Hai Peng_'s deck; something heavy landed at Squirrel's feet. A satchel, that contained all that Squirrel could not carry with her. "Yeh left your t'ings in my care, Miss Greeh. I t'ink you'll fin' dey're all dere."

"They'd better be," Squirrel muttered darkly.

Tia came and stood at Squirrel's left. For once, she wasn't smiling knowingly, or trying to appear to be wise. "I would 'ave t'ought you would 'ave been glad to get deh charts, Miss Greeh. Now we're one step closer to freein' deh poor Sperrow." She tilted her head, and waited.

Squirrel did not even deign to answer.

Tia looked at Squirrel plainly, frankly, perhaps even motherly. "You 'ave enough to worry about as it is wit'out addin' burdens to your soul, Miss Greeh. Whatever it is dat binds your wings, let it go."

Squirrel gave a short humourless laugh. "'Let go what binds my wings'? Tia, sometimes your riddles are completely ridiculous."

"Is true enough," Tia didn't smile. "But den, so is deh trut' of what you are. Deh only reason you are not free is because you wrap yourself in chains. An' you be deh oonly one dat ken free yerself."

"Leave me alone, woman," Squirrel stared stubbornly out at the sea.

Tia sighed, and started to turn away. A second later, she turned back, as though remembering something. "Dat box of mah-jong tiles," the dark-skinned sibyl said gently, "Will you be needin' it?"

Squirrel shrugged faintly. "If you want it, take it. I don't feel much like games any more." _Especially not games that remind me of what a wretch I am_. "Just don't be using them to tell the future, or any rubbish like that."

"T'ankyou for your generosity," Tia said wryly, kneeling and pulling the box of tiles free from the satchel.

Squirrel was reminded of the glass bottle at her belt, at the debt she still owed Tia. "Does this mean we're even?"

But Tia laughed, and rattled the box in her hands. "No, Miss Greeh. You still 'ave not peyed what you owe just yet. But soon… Soon, you will get deh chance to settle all of yer accounts at once."

"Good to hear it." Squirrel stared out over the water. She felt Tia rest a hand on her shoulder, but shrugged it off. She wasn't about to be comforted. Not now. And not by _her_.

"Don' stare too long into deh darkness, chil'," Tia murmured as she walked away, "Dat which we stare long into can become a part of ourself."

Squirrel's lip quirked slightly, more a sneer than a smile.

The _Hai Peng_ sailed on through the night, over waters which seemed thick and lifeless and under skies which seemed cold and unfeeling. The wind was strangely chill, and clawed its way through the holes in the sails and the gaps in clothing. The darkness and the cold seemed to pervade all. There was a strange silence that had fallen over the crew. Everyone moved silently, speaking softly as they went about their duties, as though under strain. No-one seemed to notice the single figure standing sentinel at the prow. They were all too busy doing their duties, so she was left alone.

Squirrel endured it. She told herself it was better than being pitied.

**

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A/N**: Just in case you were wondering, or are new here, angst is my favourite flavour. More coming soon. Questions, suggestions, comments? Click the review button and say hi. 


	2. Ice And Snow

**Disclaimer**: We don't want anyone running off to disclaimer, do we?

**A/N**: No notes from me this time. Just the story.

* * *

Though her face was calm, Squirrel's thoughts were roiling inside her like currents below the water's surface. She felt cold. She stared out over the water, losing herself in the endless expanse, while her heart pinched tighter with every beat. 

_Alone again. Fool, to think that it could be any different._

She folded her arms more tightly and sighed angrily. The night seemed to be getting colder, though that was impossible.

"_Mei-mei_?"

Squirrel glanced over her shoulder. One of the Chinese crew members stood behind her, looking at her curiously.

"_Shenme_?"1 She bit off the word, slurring it '_shumuh_', the way it was said on the streets.

The man nodded, then came to her side. "I thought it would be you. Sao Feng told us one of the women aboard spoke Chinese." He bowed slightly. "My name is Tai Huang."

Squirrel's mouth twisted, and she looked back over the dark water. "_Wo shi Songshu_."2 The clouds were gone, leaving just the stars and the pale moonlight. After a moment, she murmured to the man, "Tell me, do you know a man called Xin Fu? I believe he served your master."

"Xin Fu is a dog and a fool, and not worth wasting breath on." Tai Huang sneered and spat overboard.

Squirrel almost was able to smile at that. "Then you may be pleased to hear that he's dead."

Tai Huang shrugged. "He will not be missed, _mei-mei_."

Squirrel turned to face the man, studying him. He looked to her, curious, waiting. Squirrel's hands snapped out, a blur of motion - one grabbed the front of his armour, the other drew her dagger. Tai Huang's eyes widened in fear, but he couldn't move. Squirrel pressed the blade against the man's throat.

"If any of your men," she said, her voice as soft as silk, "So much as even _touches_ me as he and his men did, I will cut off your balls and feed them to you_. Ming ji ma_?"3

"_Ming ji le_,"4 Tai Huang looked between Squirrel's hard eyes and the steely blade, alarmed. Squirrel paused a moment, then let him go. She spun the dagger in her hand artfully before slipping it back into its sheath, and resumed her contemplation of the night sky and the black ocean. Tai Huang left rather quickly, leaving Squirrel alone once again.

_Now you know where I stand_, she thought venomously. _I will never let that happen to me again. Never. Not while I still draw breath_.

She thought she would feel more at ease with that dealt with, she didn't. She may have ensured her own safety, but she was still alone. Still unwanted. Perhaps even more than ever. Squirrel kicked at the anchor chain in front of her, then folded her arms again. She was still angry. Hurt more than angry, but still. Being angry with the world was better than feeling sorry for herself. Feeling sorry for herself was useless.

The stars shifted in the night sky as the _Hai Peng_ sailed on. The ship itself creaked and shifted, giving off unfamiliar sounds as the wind played with the sails and the rigging, and the waves washed against the timbers. Her mouth watered at the smell of cooking and wood smoke. Someone was making a stir-fry - she could hear the fire and the sizzling of the meat and rice. Her stomach rumbled, and the voices and laughter of her friends sounded so comforting.

But Squirrel preferred to stay at the prow, nursing her grudge and her pride. Alone.

"Aren't you hungry?"

She hadn't heard him come up behind her, but she refused to turn to face him. "No."

Will tried again. "It's really very good, you know. Better than the meals we had at the inn." He paused, tentative. "Why don't you…"

"Because someone has to keep watch, Mister Turner." Each of her words was sharp, and hard. She wouldn't temper them, not for Will. Not this time. She shook slightly in the cold wind, but did not move.

"You're shivering."

"Noted," Squirrel said coolly. His boots scuffed the deck; she heard and felt him stand to her left. Out of the corner of her eye she saw he had a coat over one arm - he was offering it to her. Squirrel tensed her shoulders.

"You'll freeze if you don't wear something else," Will said, softly. "It's only going to get colder out here."

His words weren't an apology, so Squirrel didn't want to hear them. "I thought you said you wanted to spend time with Elizabeth, Master Turner. Why aren't you offering _her_ your coat? I'm sure she's a lot colder than I am, what with her clothes being stolen and all."

With stepped back a little. "The men told me you were angry. Is that my fault?"

Squirrel gave a puff of breath, wanting to say the words but knowing what his reaction would be. "Not everything's about you, Will." She glanced at him, briefly, with one eye closed. "I'm sure Miss Swann would love your company, William, now that you're free of me. After all… she loves you dearly, right?"

He didn't look hurt as much as he did disapproving. Will folded the coat over his arm again and walked away. Squirrel found herself watching him go, despite herself. When he looked back over his shoulder, his eyes met hers.

"If you don't want this," he gestured to the coat, "Then you should at least wear that." He pointed to the satchel at her feet, then turned and walked away.

_I don't need your concern, William. I can take care of myself_. Squirrel turned back to the blackness of night and the sea. She shivered. The wind was getting colder, and the moon's cold light did nothing to warm her. Squirrel folded her arms as tight as she could and stared out over the water. Were her eyes deceiving her, or were there mountains on the sea ahead? It was strange - anytime she focused her eyes on them, the blackness of night swallowed them up. But turn her eyes to the stars or the sea, and they appeared. Like ghosts.

She didn't know how long she'd stood there, watching the white shapes and the darkness, but the wind had picked up. This was no friendly warm breeze from the equator. This was no tropical wind. This was cold and unforgiving. It matched the night, and Squirrel's mood. She shivered, and wished a moment that she'd swallowed her hurt and just accepted Will's coat, but she pushed that thought aside quickly. Too late for regrets.

Squirrel glanced down to the satchel at her feet. Protruding from the lip of the bag, like a child's arm, was a fold of blue-grey cloth. Her cloak. She'd forgotten about it. She hadn't worn it since the day the Kraken had taken down the _Black Pearl_. Since Jack had died. It reminded her of too many things. Of her past. Her past, both the things she had forgotten and the things she wanted to forget.

But it was all she had now.

Without shifting her stance, Squirrel knelt down and freed the cloak from the bag, then wrapped it tight around her shoulders. It was still cold, but the chill of the wind did not touch her as savagely now. The length of the cloak brushed the toes of her shoes; the hood closed about her ears and face in a familiar embrace. But Squirrel felt strange. She felt like she was hiding again, felt like she was being smothered. Like she was wrapped in a shroud. The cloak smelled musty, of sea salt and lavender oil and disuse. All the familiar sensations - the smells, the textures, the colour of the cloth - brought back memories. Not the memories she wanted, but the ones she'd turned away from. Memories she'd tried her hardest to ignore, to smother with alcohol, to force away with the companionship of others.

They were all coming back.

Jack Sparrow. He was in her head again. That drunken swagger. That careless smile. Those dark eyes. Squirrel shivered again, pulling the cloak unconsciously closer around her. She'd been able to avoid his eyes by hiding under this cloak before. Why couldn't she escape him now? She'd thought she'd come to terms with it, the fact that he was gone. But he wasn't gone, was he? They were going to bring him back. Back from the dead. And everything would go back to just the way it was before. Squirrel clenched her fists behind the curtain of cloth, and folded her arms tight again.

It wouldn't be the same. Not this time. She'd made herself a promise. A vow. And she intended to keep it.

Footsteps heralded someone's approach, and Squirrel's mood took a turn for the worse.

"Dinner's served," Elizabeth said gently, a sort of forced cheerfulness in her voice.

"Not hungry," Squirrel bit off the words from between nearly-numb lips.

Elizabeth paused a moment, hesitating. Then she tried a different tack. "You've been out here for hours," she sounded like she was smiling, but also like she was forcing it. "Why don't you go below and let someone else take watch?"

"Because I'd rather stay out here," Squirrel said, trying to sound calm, trying to sound fine. "I have a lot to think about."

Elizabeth came and stood at Squirrel's right, looking out over the water. "Yes," she nodded, speaking softly and with eyes lowered, "Now that we have the charts, we're one step closer to bringing Jack Sparrow back to life, aren't we?"

Temper got the better of her. Forgetting herself, Squirrel laughed bitterly. "Which is precisely why, Lizzie, I'm thinking about how Jack died in the first place."

Elizabeth stiffened slightly, but tried to cover her tracks. "Yes. It's a tragedy… but he…"

"A tragedy?" Squirrel turned and looked patronisingly at the woman beside her. "Why should it be a tragedy? Didn't he die a hero?"

Elizabeth looked like she was swallowing a handful of rusty nails. "I…" She looked away, and nodded slightly. "Yes, of course…" Her voice was stiff and strained. "Yes…"

Squirrel kept her voice low - this was between herself and the lady. "The thing is, Miss Swann?" She smiled, but there was no light in her eyes, just bitter green anger, "He _told_ me he'd only be a minute. He _told_ me he was going to join us in the boat. He _told_ me he was coming." She paused a moment to let that sink in, then twisted the knife. "And then you came down, and told us he'd decided to stay."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, trapped like a rabbit in a snare. She couldn't run. Couldn't speak.

"Somehow," Squirrel said, keeping presence of mind to withhold some information, at least; wanting to keep the final twist of the knife until much later. She still had a plan for young Elizabeth Swann, "Somehow, you changed his mind. So you'll have to excuse me, Miss Swann, but I haven't forgiven you… for killing Jack."

It was as though a bolt of lightning had struck Elizabeth. She looked at Squirrel, aghast. "You know?"

"What, you didn't think anyone would figure it out?" Squirrel shook her head, eyes locked on Elizabeth's. "You think you could just put it behind you, and go your merry way?"

Elizabeth could not have looked more guilt-ridden, more horrified. "No," she pleaded, "You don't understand!"

"I understand enough," Squirrel said bitterly, turning her eyes back to the horizon.

"The Kraken wasn't after the _Pearl_," Elizabeth whispered, choking on her words as well as tears. "It was after Jack. It was the only way…"

_The only way?_ She saw Elizabeth and Jack crushed together in a kiss, their arms entwining, their eyes closed to the world around them… the kiss… _The only way?_ Hot anger coursed through Squirrel's veins, a rage like she'd never known before. "The only way?" She whirled back, snarling. "Is that how you rationalised it, Miss Swann? Is that what you told yourself when you decided to," she put a mocking tone in her voice, "'Save us all'?" She glared. "Is that how you rationalise _murder_?" _And __betrayal_

Elizabeth's eyes were liquid; her mouth worked like a fish's, and her eyes darted back and forth frantically. "I just wanted…"

"Yes," Squirrel turned, "And it's all about what _you_ want, isn't it, Lizzie? You never stop and think about how what you do affects others." She looked back over her shoulder. "You're a perfect pirate, Miss Elizabeth Swann. Small wonder Will has a hard time trying to save you. You don't ever want to be saved."

Elizabeth stared, wide-eyed. "I…"

If every word was reminding Elizabeth of what she'd done, then Squirrel was glad to keep up her tirade. "Do you even know who I am?" Squirrel lifted her hands briefly from under her cloak. "I'm nothing! I'm a girl from Tortuga; a _nothing_. But you," she stabbed the air before Elizabeth's face with an angry finger, "You… you're the governor's daughter. You're rich. You're influential. You're _beautiful_. You have everything you could ever want, and more. And…" Squirrel choked for a moment, struggling with the unfairness of it, "And you have William Turner - a good man if ever there was one - willing to live and die at your very word. Me?" Squirrel laughed mockingly, her laughter sounding almost like a sob. "I have nothing! My parents were murdered; I was beaten and kept as little more than a slave. Worse than a slave, really, and in a hell-hole where the only release was sleep… or death. And my only ray of hope in that life was a _pirate_. A pirate!" She shook her head, laughing depreciatingly. "The only thing I had to call my own was the dream that, one day, maybe… Maybe Jack Sparrow would love me as much as I love him." She clenched her hands into fists, and smiled in self-mockery. "Such a shame I placed my hope in such a man, then, ey?"

Elizabeth was pale as pale could be, and looked near to being sick.

"I know it's a bit late to be complaining about the unfairness of the world, 'Lizzie'," Squirrel sneered in a half-smile. "And I know it's very un-Christian of me. But I haven't forgiven you. I don't know if I even can." She narrowed her eyes and glared. Her voice dropped lower, lower than a whisper. "You had everything. And I had nothing but a dream. And then you took even that from me." Bewilderment came down on Squirrel, mingled with the anger. _Why would she do that? Why would she take him from me? And why would Jack let her? How could she…_

"You're the governor's daughter," Squirrel hissed at the woman, forcing the doubt away, wanting to keep being angry, wanting to keep on hating. "And I have _nothing_."

Elizabeth stepped back, first one step, then two. She looked as though she would cry. But she didn't. She just turned slowly away, barely able to keep herself together. Squirrel watched her go. Miss Swann moved surely, not a step out of time. But she went below, out of sight of all the others. Keeping to herself.

Squirrel looked back to the wide black ocean, expecting to feel better now that her anger had been unleashed. But she didn't. If anything, she just felt worse.

_I have nothing. I am nothing._

She hunched her shoulders against the night wind, wrapped her cloak tighter around her, and stared sightlessly over the water.

* * *

The distant white shapes, after a night's sailing, proved not to be an illusion. Huge white mountains floating in the sea drifted past the _Hai Peng_, groaning and creaking eerily in the early morning light. Snow fell from the frigid sky, covering the deck. The wind howled and whistled through the holes in the sails, the gaps in the timber; it chilled to the bone. 

Squirrel shivered and tried to hug herself tighter, trying to keep warm. She'd dressed in short sleeves and lighter clothes for Singapore, and now - even with the cloak - was freezing. If she'd known that the voyage would have taken this turn, she would have worn her stockings and extra tunic. But it was a little late for that now.

Squirrel had never been so cold in her life. She shuddered and shivered, unable to stop, and wished for something, anything, to keep her warm. But all she had was what she was wearing. Her blue coat had been left on the _Diana_. It would have been very useful here.

"If ye stamp your feet," Barbossa's voice made her jump, "Ye'll warm yerself up a bit." Squirrel felt him come up behind her, felt him stand to her right. She managed a weak, chattering smile, and obliged. It took a moment - her feet were frozen to the wooden boards. Barbossa raised an eyebrow as he heard the ice around Squirrel's feet shatter. "Ye've not moved in a fair while, have ye, angel?"

"T-t-t-too c-c-cold," Squirrel whispered, her breath pluming in the air like smoke and her teeth chattering.

Barbossa chuckled. "True. The wind's not this fierce in Dorset, though it can be this cold." He smiled at some memory.

Squirrel shivered. "Dorset? England?" She shook her head. "England's too c-cold for m-m-my taste. I th-think I'll stay around the Equator."

"Hot or cold," Barbossa shrugged, "It don't matter to I. It's just a blessin' t' be able to feel again." He looked at Squirrel a moment, considering her, then put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close to him. Squirrel flushed, but she didn't try to push him away. Under his arm she felt… better. Warmer, but also safer. "That better?" Barbossa asked.

Squirrel gave a feeble smile, and a short laugh. "Thankyou."

"As I said," Barbossa's went distant, and her stoked Squirrel's face with his free hand absently, "It's a blessin' t' be able t' feel again." His fingers traced her face, feeling the warmth and the softness of her cheeks. Then his eyes focused on the present; he smiled, slightly apologetically, and pulled his hand away. He left his arm around Squirrel's shoulders, though. Squirrel was glad for the warmth as much as for the comfort. Together, they stood at the prow and stared out over the water the snow.

"Why Dorset?" Squirrel asked, after a moment.

Barbossa shrugged slightly. "There's no place like home, I suppose."

Squirrel thought of Tortuga, and her lips twisted wryly. "Of course."

"And if I should ever want to retire," he continued, "That might be where I choose to go."

Squirrel looked at Barbossa with an eyebrow raised. "I can't imagine _you_ retiring."

Barbossa chuckled. "Can't imagine it meself, angel. But it does one good t' at least have a plan, should everything go pear-shaped." He smiled down at her. "Ye're always welcome to join me."

Squirrel pulled a face. "Thankyou, Hector, but as I said, I think I'll stick to warmer climes."

Barbossa chuckled, and tightened his grip around her shoulder. "Of course. You're a mite too skinny to be suited for icebergs and snow."

"Icebergs?" Squirrel looked at him, puzzled. Barbossa pointed to one of the white shapes at they were passing in the ship. Squirrel stared. "Those are icebergs?"

"Ye've never seen 'em before, have ye, angel."

Squirrel shook her head. "Just heard stories about them. And the same with snow." She put a hand out from her cloak. It was chilled and covered in frosted flakes before even a moment had passed. She withdrew her hand back into the warmth of her cloak. "All I knew about snow - and cold - was from stories." Even when Jack had been alive, and sailed the _Pearl_ up to Tripoli, it had been summer. Snow and icebergs had been as much a myth to Squirrel as the Kraken or Fiddler's Green.

Barbossa nodded slightly. "Ye seem t' hold stories in very high regard, angel. Why is that?"

Squirrel sighed, her breath pluming in the cold air. "Stories and memories are all I have to go on, Captain. And I've precious little of the latter."

Barbossa was silent a moment, considering her words. Then, softly, he murmured, "Just as heat consumes the snow, so the grave consumes those who've sinned. Forgotten on earth, broken like trees, they taste sweet to worms."

Squirrel looked to Barbossa. "That sounds familiar. Shakespeare?"

Barbossa shook his head, staring out at the horizon. "Job." He smiled faintly down at a concerned Squirrel. "Ye'll have t' forgive me, angel. Headin' down the path of the dead puts me in a faintly melancholy frame o' mind. Pay no heed t' me, or my philosophical meanderin's." He pulled a smile in self-mockery.

But Barbossa's choice of words struck a chord in Squirrel. "The path of the dead?" She looked up at him. "That's World's End, isn't it? The end of the world - for anyone and everyone - is death." She hesitated, looking at the man carefully. "We're heading down the path of the dead to bring back Jack Sparrow and the _Black Pearl_."

Barbossa nodded. "Aye, true enough."

Squirrel chose her words tentatively, fearfully. "Does this mean we have to die to save him?"

Barbossa smoothed down his beard, wiping some of the snow from his face. "Would ye have come this far, angel… nay, I take that back. Would ye have decided t' come on this voyage if ye knew that where we were headed?"

"You answer my question, I'll answer yours."

Barbossa smiled to himself. "Not entirely," he said. Her jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Those charts lead us to a place that's real enough, but it does take some… sacrifice. Not death, though." Squirrel mulled over this, feeling her stomach churn. After a moment, Barbossa prompted, "Your turn, angel."

"I don't know," she admitted, still very uneasy. "I might not have. After all, that's why you only told us of the voyage in fits and starts. First of all, Singapore, and now this." Squirrel motioned to the icy waters the _Hai Peng_ was sailing through. "We always knew we were headed for Davy Jones' Locker. We just didn't know how to get there."

"Ye might not have come," Barbossa mused over her words, a small smile about his lips. "An' here I thought that Jack Sparrow meant the world t' ye."

"I've a reason enough to come on this voyage," Squirrel answered, fingering the necklace around her throat, "As do you."

"Ah," Barbossa smiled, "But no-one's motives are ever as pure as they first appear, angel."

Squirrel frowned and looked to the man who stood by her side, his arm around her. Something in his words jarred an uneasy chord. Of course she trusted him, but she knew he had his secrets. Barbossa read to her like a deck of cards with a few cards missing. Hidden up his sleeve, perhaps? What she'd learned of Hector, from all their dinners and conversations and swordfights together still left her with an incomplete sense of the game. _Everyone has their secrets_._ He's hiding something, and I don't know what._ "So what are your motives, then, Hector? Why have you come?"

Barbossa's smile vanished. "To atone for me many and varied sins."

Squirrel laughed faintly. "Of course you are. But I would have thought regaining the _Pearl_ would have also been motivation enough. You said so yourself - retirement isn't something you've planned for the immediate future." She smirked at him. "Don't give me piety, Hector, when simple pirate greed will suffice."

Barbossa looked at her, smiling wryly. "Ye're too cunnin' by half, angel."

Squirrel smiled in return, then looked out at the sea. "Calling the pirate lords, though," she continued, "That still doesn't make much sense to me."

"Why not?" He sounded cautious, wary.

"It's too altruistic," Squirrel explained, "It doesn't fit with the Captain Hector Barbossa I knew from the stories." She glanced at him, "Or the man I know." She turned her eyes back to the icebergs and the water. "Of course, I could rationalise it by saying you want the waters to be free of all threats, just so it's easier to raid, pillage and plunder. But I can't help but feel like there's something missing." She frowned, the imperfect equation bothering her. "Like there's some other reason you're here."

Barbossa laughed, loud and hearty. "Well, angel, if ye want t' make a puzzle out of me, I won't stop ye. But p'raps altruism itself is the reason I'm here? Sometimes people can change, ye know."

Squirrel heard his words, but they didn't ease her mind. Barbossa wore different masks for different people. Why would the one he wore for her be his real face? Outwardly, she just nodded and smiled, acceding to his point. But inwardly she was thinking, analysing: _why do this, Hector?_

Barbossa smiled, and tilted his head. "This brings me to the question that's been bothering me all this time… Why are you so keen to keep on this course, angel?" His eyes were piercing, as cold and knowing as the icy sea before them.

Squirrel bit her tongue and looked out over the water. "Everyone deserves a second chance." If Barbossa had his secrets, then she'd hold onto hers.

Barbossa sighed and gave her a patient smile. "Angel, while altruism is part of your nature, I sincerely doubt that's why ye're here. Come, now - what's the real reason?"

"You're as bad as Tia," Squirrel tried to joke, "Isn't it enough that I'm here?" When Barbossa didn't answer, she glared over the water. "Well, it's not like it matters in the end, does it? I can't go back now. We're all in this together, and the end is near. Jack'll be free and everything'll start all over again." The cloak around her shoulders was proof of that.

Barbossa frowned. "Well, what's got ye all in a knot all of a sudden?" He shifted his grip on her slightly, so he could look down into her eyes.

Squirrel found she couldn't look away. "I'm fine."

Barbossa narrowed his eyes, as though he were trying to read her, trying to understand her. "Maybe," he said, "But then again, maybe not." He glanced over his shoulder, at the ship and the crew, then looked back to Squirrel. "From where I stood at the tiller, angel, I'd a good view of ye."

Squirrel managed a smirk at that. "Staring at my arse, were you? For shame, Hector."

He didn't laugh, or even smile. "Ye've been a mite prickly, angel, and I want to know why."

"Prickly?"

"The Chinese crewman, Mister Turner, Miss Swann. All of 'em came over here to speak with ye, but none of 'em stayed very long."

"There was not much to say between us," Squirrel said evenly.

"Oh, of course," Barbossa nodded, but his words were sardonic. "And what was said was said with a blade or an angry hand."

Squirrel clenched her fists under her cloak.

"Ye're standing out here, alone, in the cold, and ye haven't even moved since we left Singapore. For pity's sake, angel, your boots were frozen to the planking." He looked to her. "As a captain, I have t' be concerned about the well-bein' of me crew."

Squirrel glared at him. "I thought you told me you didn't _want_ to be called captain."

Barbossa weathered her glare a moment, then took his arm from around Squirrel's shoulders. "Very well," he said calmly, pulling away from her, "If it's alone an' cold an' in a temper ye want t' be, I won't get in your way." He made a small, ironic bow, then turned and walked back to the tiller.

He took with him the warmth the comfort Squirrel had felt. She shivered in the cold wind, her teeth clattering like mah-jong tiles, and cursed herself for a fool.

* * *

1) What? 

2) I'm Squirrel.

3) Got it?

4) Got it.

**A/N**: All the pieces are falling into place... I wonder how the truth of matters will change things... Reviews are welcomed, especially if you faved my stories but then never say a word. Yes, you know who I'm talking to...

And why Dorset? Well, because Geoffrey Rush gave an interview for several newspapers, thats why :P


	3. The Abyss

**Disclaimer**: 'E's been asking questions about th' disclaimer.

**A/N**: Not much to say here. I'll prolly make the other chapters following much longer. We'll see how we go.

* * *

He looked up at her with mournful eyes, shivering where he sat. Squirrel pursed her lips. 

"You're not really cold," she murmured, as she herself shivered. "You're still cursed. You can't feel this."

The monkey continued to shudder and shiver; his eyes were wide and mournful. Squirrel rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat. She sat down on the frozen crate next to Pintel and scooped the monkey into her arms. With a satisfied coo, it settled comfortably under her cloak. Squirrel sighed again, resigned to the fact she was helpless against a pleading pair of eyes.

She could have stayed at the prow. But there she got the full brunt of the wind and the spray of the sea. Anger is exhausting after a while, and pride doesn't keep you warm. And she still had some friends on the ship. After Barbossa left her, she realised the folly of being alone as she was.

Pintel and Ragetti were shaking and frozen, shivering where they sat, far less fortunate than she was. They had no cloak or coat to protect them. So they huddled together for what warmth they could find.

"S-so cold," Ragetti whispered.

"No-one said anything about _cold_," Pintel seconded bitterly.

"Or icebergs," Squirrel closed her cloak about her as tightly as she could. The monkey chirped from where he sat, nestled on her lap and wrapped in her cloak.

"I'm sure there must be a good reason for our suffering," Ragetti said forlornly.

"I'm sick of suffering," Squirrel muttered darkly. "Why can't things go easy for once?"

Pintel seemed to be having the same thoughts. "Why don't that obeh woman just bring back Jack the same way she brought back Barbossa?"

"Because Barbossa was oonly dead."

Squirrel jumped at the sound of Tia's voice. The woman was standing, still and wooden, not a few feet from them. Her breath plumed at the word 'dead', like a fleeing spirit. Squirrel shivered and looked away, feeling uncomfortable under Tia's hard, flat stare.

But the swamp woman came closer. "Jack Sparrow is tekan, body and soul, to a place not of death… but punishment."

Squirrel bowed her head, refusing to meet Tia's eyes. She stared at the snow at the deck instead, trying to distract her thoughts from Tia's words, and Tia's word's from her thoughts. Punishment. Body and soul. One hundred years before the mast. One hundred souls, three days. Punishment. _The captain goes down with his ship… he deserves much less_. Squirrel winced as her own thoughts echoed cruelly back to her.

"Deh worst fate a man can bring 'pon 'imself, stretching on forever…" Never had Tia sounded more threatening, more angry. "Dat's what awaits at Davy Jones' Lacka." And that was all. Silently, like one of the icebergs, Tia drifted past Ragetti, Pintel and Squirrel, taking her fury with her and leaving them to shiver. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Well," Ragetti stared up at the sky, "I knew there was a good reason."

_Punishment_, Squirrel thought, staring out over the deck and out to the sea. _What kind of punishment is Jack facing? And how is he bearing it?_ She impatiently shook the thought from her mind. _He's bearing it fine, no doubt. He's Captain Jack Sparrow. If he were Sisyphus, he'd already have that stone up the hill. He may not have found a way to escape, but he's probably not suffering at all_.

_It's probably a waste of our time that we're coming to save him_.

The thought was mutinous, but not out of place. After all, Jack had managed to fight off a horde of undead pirates, escape a hanging at Port Royal, and avoid being eaten by an island full of worshippers, among other things. His whole life was woven from stories of escapes and second chances. He was probably faring no differently in Davy Jones' Locker. Jack didn't need anyone but himself. It was plain enough to see.

Squirrel's stomach churned with both guilt and anger, leaving her queasy and uncertain about what it was she was feeling. And what she wanted to feel.

"Oi, somefin's 'appenin'."

Pintel's observation roused Squirrel from her thoughts. She stood up, the monkey still cradled in her arms, and went to join the group at the tiller. She walked slowly, carefully, warily, as she approached the group. Elizabeth sat at the stern, wrapped in a snow-covered blanket; Will and Tai Huang stood before Barbossa. Too many familiar faces, reminders of her temper. She didn't want trouble.

"Care to translate, _Captain_ Barbossa?" Will was asking, emphasising the title with heavy sarcasm.

Barbossa smirked, lowering the charts, and looked sideways. "Ever gazed upon the green flash, Mister Gibbs?"

Gibbs turned away from watching the icebergs at the starboard side. "Oh, I reckon I've seen my share. Happens on rare occasion." He smiled to himself, falling into his storyteller's role with pride as he stepped down into the group of eager listeners. "At the last glimpse of sunset, a green flash will shoot up into the air. Some go their whole lives without seein' it; some claim to have seen it who ain't. And some say…"

"It signals when a soul comes back from the dead!" Pintel burst out, enthusiastically. All faces turned to him. The pirate smiled at being the provider of such helpful information, until he noticed Gibbs' face contorting. Pintel cringed, and offered an apologetic, "Sorry."

Squirrel half smiled to herself, and scratched the monkey under the chin. It cooed and yawned, curling up in a ball in her arms.

"So what does that mean?" Will asked.

Barbossa rolled up the charts and handed them back to Will. "It means what it means, Mister Turner, and nothin' more, or less."

Will accepted the charts graciously, but looked disheartened. "So how does it help us, then, if we don't even understand it?"

"We'll know when the time comes." Barbossa rose to his feet. "Trust me, Mister Turner. It's not gettin' to the world o' the dead that the problem…" He took hold of the tiller handle and heaved it hard. "It's gettin' back." Will nodded, taking the charts with him, and the crew dispersed. Squirrel, after a moment's hesitation, followed after Will.

He didn't even hear her come up behind him. Will sat down under the shelter built on deck, and studied the charts again. Squirrel was standing almost right in front of him. The monkey leapt up from her arms, and perched on her shoulder. It looked between the two of them, curiously, then gave a screech. That was enough to make Will lift his head. He looked startled at her standing there, and half-rose to his feet.

"Miss Grey…"

But she held up a hand, silencing him. "May I see them?" She sat down opposite him, pulling a crate between them for a table. Will placed the charts flat, turning them around so she could get a better view. Squirrel leaned forward, peering at the charts; the monkey curled its tail around her neck and did the same.

The charts were curious, to say the least. While the backing was of bamboo, the charts themselves were polished oilskin. Not only that, but they were several concentric circles, with small brass buttons at certain parts. Squirrel took hold of one of the buttons and twirled, and one of the circles of the charts moved with it. The inked shapes and names of islands shifted and changed; the lines of latitude and longitude meant nothing when the charts were not even the land masses were fixed. At the heart of the map was a drawing of one of the Asian ships, similar to the _Hai Peng_, though much more graceful.

"Difficult," Squirrel murmured, watching the lines and images move before her very eyes, "These could lead anywhere."

"I know." Will nodded. "We'll be at our wit's end trying to figure this one out."

"All riddles can be solved," Squirrel murmured. "Eventually."

Will hesitated a moment, then leant forward. "This is what we seek." He twirled the circle back into its original position, and pointed. "See here?"

Squirrel examined the tiny letters with a frown. "'Over the edge, over again'? 'Sunrise sets, flash of green'?" Her frown deepened. "Riddles within riddles." She twirled the outer two circles of the charts absently, biting her lip in thought. "The flash of green comes at sunset… But at sunrise? And a sunrise sets? And over the edge? What could that mean?"

"Maybe we should ask Tia," Will suggested.

Squirrel finally looked him in the eye. "She's probably not in a 'helping' kind of mood, William. Neither am I, come to think of it." She lowered her eyes. "I just wanted to see what it was that you and I went to such trouble for." She drummed her fingers on the charts. "Whether it was worth the bargain with Sao Feng or not."

Will looked startled, then pained. "Squirrel, I…"

Squirrel just shook her head, and Will fell silent. A detail in the top corner caught her eye - a skeleton and an angel stood guard either side of a half-chalice. Squirrel turned the second-outer circle until the bottom half of the chalice lined up with the top. A scroll declared brazenly, 'AQUA DE VITA'. Squirrel didn't know how she could tell, but she knew that the drawing was no help to what they were seeking. That was a puzzle for later; they had enough to deal with now. She twirled the circles again until she found the phrase she was meant to be looking for. She didn't recognise any of the islands or oceans written on the oilskin. The phrase - the riddle - was all they had.

"Over the edge… Sunrise sets," Squirrel murmured, then frowned again. "These _were_ Sao Feng's charts, yes? From Singapore?"

"Yes, of course they were." Will tilted his head, "Why?"

Squirrel pointed to the lettering. "Then why is this in English?"

Will's frown matched her own. "I… I don't know," he admitted, puzzled. "I hadn't thought about that…"

She managed a smile, and a short laugh at the look on his face. "This just keeps getting more and more a mystery, doesn't it?" Will smiled back. They held each others' gaze a moment, then they both, as one, looked elsewhere. There was a long silence between them. "You know, it's been ninety-nine days," Squirrel rubbed her finger on the charts absently. "And tomorrow, it will have been a hundred."

Will looked to her, perplexed. "A hundred days? A hundred days for what?" Then comprehension dawned on him. "Since Jack died?"

Squirrel nodded shortly.

Will made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but the concern in his eyes was what really mattered. "You've been counting?"

Squirrel looked up at him, her expression mirroring his. "If you want to laugh at me, or call me a fool, you can. I wouldn't blame you."

But he shook his head. "I'd never call you a fool, Squirrel."

A shadow fell over them, over the whole ship. Will and Squirrel looked up. The _Hai Peng_ was sailing through a tunnel of ice, a hole in a gigantic iceberg. The monkey chirped softly, nervously, as Squirrel rose to her feet and went out from under the shelter, leaving Will with the charts.

The ice rose high above the ship on either side, like they were entering the maw of some ravenous ancient beast. The walls of ice groaned heavily; distant crackings and creakings slid through the air like the breaking of bones or the shifting of titanic ships' timbers. The ice itself was clear and strange and beautiful, like glass that caught and warped the light and the shadows. Squirrel caught her breath at the immensity and wonder of it all.

The darkness grew and grew, until it swallowed the whole ship. Soon, the only light that could be seen was that from which the way they'd come, and from the lanterns which the men were hurrying to light.

"He'd better know where we're going," Will murmured in concern, coming to stand beside Squirrel.

Squirrel looked back to the tiller, where Barbossa stood, unmoving, his piercing eyes fixed on the shadows ahead.

"Don't worry," she held out her arms, and the monkey climbed down to curl up under the protection and comfort of her cloak again, "He does."

* * *

A good meal and a short rest later, Squirrel came above deck to find the world in darkness. And what a strange darkness it was. 

"Where are we?" She asked Marty, pushing her hood back from her face. The cold was gone - the air being a far more friendly temperature - but so too were any features that could possibly render this ocean recognisable. No icebergs, no snow, no distant islands. Just endless night. And thousands of bright lights.

Marty just shrugged helplessly back at her. "I've no clue, Miss." He craned his head back. "These ain't stars I've ever seen. There's… far too many of 'em, and none of 'em familiar."

Squirrel looked out at the stars as well, but she didn't look up. She looked out at the water. "No sea is this calm, either." It was eerily still. There didn't even seem to be a wind, but _Hai Peng_ moved swiftly enough. It was like sailing through a mirror, with the stars above as well as below. There wasn't a sound from out over the water. It was unsettling. "This isn't natural."

Marty nodded uneasily as me moved away from the railing. "Ye don't need t' tell me twice."

Squirrel sighed out over the water. In her head, that delicate song was playing, that sweet lullaby. Squirrel hummed it to herself a moment, then looked about for Tia and her music-box locket. Instead, her eyes chanced upon Elizabeth and Will, standing at the prow together. Even from where she stood, Squirrel could see the awkwardness between them, that secret which lay like a hard black stone. Squirrel turned her eyes away from the pair, feeling stony herself. She started humming the tune under her breath, trying to clear her mind. "_There's never been a compass true_…" Squirrel watched the alien stars slide past, watched the sea that was as still and reflective as glass, and placed the words she'd found to the tune she'd been given.

Then someone whispered her name.

Squirrel cast her eyes about, frantically, the song silenced from the shock of what she'd heard. As soon it had been said, it was gone. She couldn't remember what it was that had been said, but she knew it had been her name. Her real name. Someone had said it. But who? Squirrel looked around the deck, at each of the crewmen, at her friends and family, one by one, trying to see who it was that could have possibly spoken.

She couldn't remember what they'd said, but she knew for certain they'd said her name.

None of the crewmen looked her way. They, too, were silenced by the stars and the sea. But one of them must have spoken, even in accident. Squirrel stood in silence a moment, listening, watching. Waiting. Waiting for that breath, that sigh, that whisper she'd heard to come again.

And after a long, painful moment, she heard it.

There were voices, somewhere out over the water. Whispering. Murmuring. Calling. Her name - her real name! They were saying it over, and over again. She could hear them, but she couldn't hear them clearly. It was a breath, it was a sigh… but it was there!

The compass had pointed south-east. She'd wanted her name, and the compass had told her south-east. Singapore was south-east. This was further than that! Her name was here! Spurred by hope, Squirrel leapt up into the _Hai Peng_'s rigging, hanging as far out over the water as she could. That lullaby was playing in her head again. She tried to push it away, to focus on what was out there in the darkness. After all this time, after all this searching, it was here! Somewhere in this strange night, her name was here! She closed her eyes and strained her ears, trying to discern over the sounds from the ship what it was that they were saying…

_I can hear you, but I can't understand you! What's my name? Tell me! Please!_

The noises on the ship were distractions. She could hear Will and Elizabeth, a muted discussion filled with pain. She could hear the crew eating, swearing while trying to master the chopsticks once again. Gibbs was chiding Ragetti for holding the sticks in his left hand, but the pirate protested he had to hold them like that because he was left-handed, wasn't he? And then there were the sails flapping and the timbers creaking and footsteps and ropes and snores and other noises. Squirrel strained, her closed eyes smarting with tears. She tried to push all that away, tried to hear only what lay ahead in the star-filled void.

The whispering grew louder, coming closer from the distance. Soon they'd be close enough for Squirrel to hear…

"For what we wan' mos'," Tia's voice carved through the night, wavering as though through tears, "A cost must be peyed in deh end."

Squirrel's eyes snapped wide. Cost? Cost was what she and Barbossa had discussed on their first meeting. What cost was Tia speaking of now? Forgetting the urgency of her name a moment, Squirrel looked down to the prow. Will and Tia stood silent a moment, considering each other, then Will broke away and ran to the tiller. His voice was urgent and concerned.

"Barbossa! Ahead!"

"Aye!" Barbossa sounded pleased. "We're good and lost now."

Squirrel's head snapped to the distant horizon while the conversation below continued. A plume of ever-moving silver mist was rising from the ocean's surface to the sky. Squirrel frowned. Was it the mist that was calling to her?

Elizabeth sounded confused. "Lost?"

Squirrel climbed down from the rigging and went to the prow, squinting out across the distance. That noise - those whispers - was coming from where the mist was. But they weren't whispers anymore. It was more like… hissing. And it was slowly getting louder.

"Aye, fer certain ye have t' be lost t' find a place that can't be found, elseways everyone would knew where it was."

Squirrel looked back over her shoulder to the gathering of crewmen at the tiller.

"We're gaining speed," Gibbs said, concerned.

"Aye," Barbossa said, nonchalant and unmoved.

In the inky water, spearheaded ripples moved from the _Hai Peng_'s wake. Squirrel spat in the water, and watched with alarm at the ship passed it in less time than it took for her to draw breath. The hissing mist ahead was getting slowly louder. Squirrel looked back to them. And then her eyes widened.

There was a… a line on the sea. She'd not seen anything like that while a member of the crew. But she had seen such a line once before. Back on Tortuga, when it had rained, and she was letting the water soothe her bruises, she'd sat down on the roof and watched a bucket slowly fill. It filled and filled, until it could contain no more, and the water burst its bounds and spilled over the edge.

"No!" The word exploded from her. She turned to run for the tiller, for Barbossa and her friends, and shouted at the gathered crewmen. "It's flat!" She didn't know what she was saying until after she'd spoken. She pointed to Ragetti, who was still holding his chopsticks in his left hand. "You were right! But you shouldn't be! But you can't be! It's flat!" She looked frantically to Barbossa, and the rest of the nonplussed crew around her. "But it can't be flat! It's round! It's supposed to be round!"

Barbossa looked a little amused, but it was Marty who spoke. "What's not flat, Miss?"

"The world!" She gestured over her shoulder to the rising mist. "The world's round! It's not flat! It shouldn't end…" The words died away at the realisation of what she'd just said. "…like …this…" _The end of the world. World's end_. Barbossa smiled genially at her.

"Stations! All hands!" Will bellowed, and the ship exploded into action. "Gather way and keep her trim!" Squirrel leapt to the lines, feverishly hauling on the ropes to turn the finned sails of the _Phoenix_, along with the rest of the crew.

"BELAY THAT!" Barbossa shouted, "Let her run straight and true!" Almost everyone stilled, more from incredulity than following his order.

Squirrel continued to haul on the ropes. The words were pouring from her with every breath, a fearful mantra. "No, no, no, no…" She was shaking, but not with the cold. "This is impossible, impossible. No, no, no…" On the deck, Tia muttered an incantation to a handful of crab claws, throwing them down and staring at the shapes they made. As those claws clattered across the crate, Squirrel saw a flickering image of a cage made with barnacle-encrusted bars, and gave a helpless cry. Her grip on the sail rope tightened; she hauled faster, though it did no good.

"Let it be, angel," Barbossa came to her side and put both hands on her shoulders. "It's a bit late t' be wantin' t' go back now." Squirrel stared at him, wide-eyed and voiceless.

"You've doomed us all!" Elizabeth came pacing towards them, fury in her eyes.

"Don't be so unkind, miss," the man in black said, moving past Squirrel. "We might not survive this trip…" He took hold of her chin, and squeezed her lips til they were pursed, "And these be the last friendly words ye hear." Elizabeth pulled out of Barbossa's grip and looked back to the rapidly approaching waterfall. For that's what it was. A waterfall. An impossible waterfall.

Squirrel let go of the rope at last and ran for the prow. She didn't know why she did; fear made her irrational. Perhaps she wanted to look her fate in the eye. She stared as the sea - which ended as abruptly as a cliff face - poured forever down over the edge into some abyss. Some dark, fathomless abyss.

She could not tear her eyes away from that darkness.

The waters were loud and thundering. What had once been a whisper now assaulted Squirrel's ears. She'd strained to hear the name from the whispering mist, but now she cringed from the volume of the falling waters and the rising spray. They were still saying her name, but she couldn't understand them. The whisper of her name was lost to the immensity of the sea.

The _Hai Peng_ began to list, then tilt over the edge. Squirrel turned and ran to the stern, ran from that gaping maw, her only breath a scream. But she could not run far, for the deck beneath her was slipping and it didn't matter where she climbed because they were all going to fall.

_Over the edge…_

Someone grabbed hold of her, pulling her from the deck and holding her close. She recognised the one who held her from the smell of his clothes, from the medallion around his neck, from his laugh. Squirrel wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, as though by burying her face in his chest and blocking out the world around her she could pretend that this was all a bad dream.

"Take a deep breath, angel!" Barbossa crowed, one arm around her and the other around one of the _Hai Peng_'s lines, "It's a long drop!" He laughed again, as though master of all the world.

And then up was down, and everything was a confusion of darkness and screams and saltwater and the roar of the forever-falling waves.

**

* * *

**

**A/N**: Next up, the bird in the cage! As always, suggestions about whatever are always welcome. Questions, comments and reviews too. CLICK it ain't that hard just CLICK that review button.


	4. Davy Jones' Locker

**Disclaimer**: These could be the last friendly disclaimers ye'd hear.

**A/N**: Some call-backs to the previous story within. Also, foreshadowing. Yay for foreshadowing! And angst, but that's a given at this point in time.

* * *

Somehow, in the fall over the edge and the pounding of the waters, she was torn from Barbossa's arms. She was left to struggle in the waters alone. The salt water was all around her, crushing her down to the depths and pulling her deeper. She had one breath caught in her lungs, but it would not last her long. Though she kicked and reached and searched with her eyes and hands, she could not find the surface. The seas were too dark, too deep, too heavy. 

She was drowning.

Echoes of Will's instructions on how to swim - _don't panic, don't thrash_ - clashed with Tia's words: _It was your fate to die at sea_. Squirrel couldn't think, couldn't remember. Her air was all but spent, and the waters were still holding her below. Frantic, she threw both her arms up, reaching for something, someone. With both arms raised, she fell further, faster. Bubbles of air flew from her lips to glass beads, precious pearls she could never regain.

Then hands grabbed her by the wrists and heaved.

The air above had never tasted so sweet. Squirrel coughed and spluttered, even as her rescuers continued to haul her out of the waves. She just lay there, across the wooden boards, gasping like a fish, trying to remember how to breathe.

Ragetti's giggling laugh went over her head. "See! See I tol' you she was still alive!"

"Yeah, well I knew she'd be fine too, didn't I?" Pintel huffed in return. His voice softened. "You alright, sweet'eart?"

Squirrel shakily lifted her head. She was lying, half-in and half-out of the water, on a table-sized piece of the _Hai Peng_'s shattered hull; Pintel was on her left and Ragetti was on her right.

"You saved me," Squirrel slurred at last, no other words forthcoming. Pintel nodded, looking proud of himself. Ragetti giggled again.

"Well, that's what you said, didn't you? You said 'there's always next time', and this was it! This was the next time, wasn't it?"

Squirrel frowned to herself, trying to remember what he meant. Then she recalled - the day the voyage began, when Gibbs had helped her out of the boat and onto solid ground. It was so long ago now, nothing but a faint memory to her. But it had meant the world to these two. She nodded, smiling weakly, then closed her eyes and rested her head on the wood. All she wanted to do was lie there and breathe. Breathe, because she'd never been so grateful for such a simple thing.

"We'd better get to shore," Pintel muttered, and started kicking. Ragetti joined in. The raft slowly bobbed across the waves, but Squirrel couldn't help but smile as the usual argument between the two started up again. "You're kicking too fast!"

"You're not kicking fast enough!"

Eventually, Squirrel felt her toes drag along the sand, and stood up. Pintel and Ragetti kept paddling to shore, leaving Squirrel standing waist-deep in the sea. Squirrel didn't heed them. She was too busy staring about her, in wonder and in fear.

The shoreline was littered with pieces of the _Hai Peng_. She'd sailed her last voyage. From the waves, crewmen and friends were staggering to the beach, coughing and spluttering and praising whatever powers that they held dear. But it wasn't to the beach or to her friends that Squirrel's eyes were turned.

The sky was white, as white as the dunes that stretched off into the distance, as far as the eye could see. There was no sun, yet somehow there was a bright light which glared off the sands and the sea, cruelly and fiercely. There was no wind, no shade. Just an absolute stillness. Even the sound of the waves hissing through the sand was muted. There was the smell of the sea, that searing, unforgiving light, and little else.

"So this is Hell," Squirrel murmured. A wave pushed at the small of her back, like a motherly hand. Squirrel moved forward with shaky steps, prompted by the wave, out of the water and onto solid land. She stepped ashore, amidst the wreckage of the vessel, and searched the blindingly-bright dunes with her eyes. Her heart thudded beneath her shirt, beneath the sash of daggers she wore. Hope, a terrible despairing hope, was playing tug-o-war with her emotions.

_That's how he finds you. When you have nothing left but the thought that you would do anything… It's the hope that does you in. It's a beacon to Davy Jones. Small wonder it would be all that you'd feel down here_.

Squirrel tore her eyes from the landscape, looking instead down the beach, at the detritus washed ashore. _It's only because I'm in the Locker_, she told herself. _Once we get out of here, I'll be fine_. But as she looked down the beach, the despair seemed to grow. How were they to escape this place now? There was only the sea behind them, and the endless white sands before them. There was no ship, no means or way to escape.

Or was there? Squirrel checked herself. From her belt she pulled a small silver compass. She was more than relieved to see it had not been damaged from the sea or the fall. Gingerly, she undid the catch and opened the lid. If this compass pointed north, then perhaps there would be some way to escape this place. But the needle spun and spun and spun. Directions were no good here. There was only towards or away from the sea. They were in a cage. Disheartened, Squirrel closed the compass. But she held it in her palm a moment longer. The silver - and the memories that came with it - was comforting, even in this place.

She looked down, intending to place the compass back in her belt, but she caught sight of something lying on the sand at her feet. She smiled dryly; her satchel had made the journey too, though far much worse for wear. She knelt down, the compass still clutched in one hand, and sifted through the sodden bag, looking for what she could salvage.

The silk stockings were ruined from the seawater, as was the quill; there was no point in taking them. _Hamlet_ was sodden, but it was still in one piece. It had survived one swim in the sea, why wouldn't it have survived a second? And then, the box… Squirrel put the book down on the sand and picked up the wooden box, and flicked open the catch. Her amulet was just like she remembered it - locked away and forgotten. Squirrel frowned, considering leaving the amulet it where it was. But at the last minute, she plucked the coin from the box, and left the box on the sand, empty as a dried clamshell.

The light glinted gently off the ridges and patterns in the silver; that the cruel light could glint gently off anything came as a dull surprise. Squirrel slipped her compass gently into one of her belt-pouches, without even realising she did so. She was too busy staring at the iron core of the silver coin. Memories flashed across her vision: the smell of rum and gunpowder, the taste of the sea, the feeling of Jack's arms around her as he pulled her from the waves…

_First the cloak_, Squirrel thought, feeling almost disgusted with herself, _And now this. History's repeating itself, and in more ways than one_. She sighed, picked up _Hamlet_, then stood, pushing the amulet into her belt, under her sash. She wanted to keep it - it was hers, after all - but she wanted to keep it out of sight and mind.

There was the sound of metal on glass, and suddenly the memories from the coin weren't the only ones that Squirrel recalled. Gingerly, fearing the worst, Squirrel probed the blue cotton sash until her fingers found that glass bottle. She pulled it out - it was unbroken. Squirrel would have smiled if she'd felt more relived than puzzled.

_Fill it with something rarer…_

Squirrel stared at the bottle, then tucked it and the amulet into the sash of blue cotton. She didn't have time to reminisce or to work on riddles. There were far more pressing matters. She turned her eyes to the beach, then hurried down towards the dune where her friends and crewmates were gathering. Barbossa noticed her approach first, and smiled warmly at her.

"Good t' see ye're still in one piece, angel," he murmured. There was a sour twist to the corner of his mouth, and his humourless eyes scoured the dunes. Like a sea eagle looking for prey. Squirrel tightened her two-handed grip on the waterlogged book as she also looked inland, though for different reasons.

"This truly is a godforsaken place," she heard Gibbs say.

"I don't see him," Elizabeth said, the same kind of hopelessness in her voice that Squirrel felt. "I don't see anyone."

Squirrel glanced to Barbossa. "How hard could it be to find a single soul in Davy Jones' Locker?"

Barbossa looked down at her, and smiled in such a way that gave her chills. "How hard, indeed?" He started walking further inland, and lifted his voice for Elizabeth's sake. "Oh, he's here. Davy Jones not once gave up what he took from the sea."

"And does it matter?" Squirrel turned to see Will coming out of the sea, eyes burning. But his anger was tempered by the same helplessness, that same pall which had fallen over them all. Will continued, "We're trapped here by your doing, no different than Jack." Barbossa merely raised an eyebrow at him, as though saying 'wait and see'.

Tia Dalma laughed. "Witty Jack," she murmured, holding something in her hands, "Is closer dan you t'ink." She smiled at Squirrel, then turned to face the dunes.

The first thing Squirrel saw rising over the sand was Jack Sparrow himself. She caught her breath, and felt her heart beat, beat, beat in her chest; her mouth was dry and she couldn't move, not a step. But her vision remained as clear as ever. Perhaps even more so - for what seemed like an eternity _and_ too short a time, all she saw was him.

Jack Sparrow stood on the topmost spar of the _Black Pearl_'s mainmast, holding onto a line and staring out over the sea like the pirate lord Squirrel had been told he was. The master of his own destiny. And, it seemed, master of the world itself. Laws of normality meant nothing, because the captain seemed to command them. The _Black Pearl_ was sailing over the sands.

"Impossible," Tai Huang stared.

"_Bu ke neng_," Squirrel breathed at the same time. Her words were not just for the ship moving across the sand, but for the captain who sailed it. It was strange to watch him, head craned back with both feet one solid ground. She was so used to being the one up high, watching from out of sight. To have him up there, while she stood below… Her legs moved her forward, though she didn't realise it. It was as though she was being pulled, somehow. Drawn to the man she had followed, body and soul, for so long.

The _Pearl_ crested the dune and slid down, as graceful as though the ship were riding waves instead of sand. Now she was closer, Squirrel could see a flurry of white stones keeping the ship aloft. One such stone was crossing the sand towards Tia Dalma. As, it came closer, though, Squirrel could see it was no stone - it was a round, white crab, the like Squirrel had never seen before. The creature vanished under the hem of Tia's dress, though the woman seemed not to notice. All eyes were on the _Black Pearl_, as the black-timbered ship was carried to the sea.

"Slap me thrice and hand me to me mama," Gibbs breathed, "It's Jack!"

Squirrel hung back, watching as the _Pearl_ drifted further out to sea, feeling… Feeling… Feeling she didn't know what. Guilt and confusion? Hurt and joy? Love and hate? _Even Hell can't keep him down. One hundred days in the Locker, facing punishment that stretches on forever, and he's still the master of his own fate. Can anything stop him? That's my Jack! Jack, beautiful, sweet Jack. We've come for you! You bastard, we should just leave you here. You left us to die, but we can't do that to you. No man should hear his eulogy. We'll take your ship and leave you here, where you belong. And with those who deserve your company. I don't want to lose you again, but I… I don't… I can't…_

She bowed her head and dropped her arms to her sides, _Hamlet_ clutched tight in her left hand. The hand scarred from the battle with the Kraken.

_I made a promise. I'm going to keep it_.

* * *

When Jack arrived back on shore, stepping out from one of the _Pearl_'s lifeboats, Squirrel ran with the rest of the crew down the beach towards him. But she didn't run as fast, or as eagerly. She hung back, moderating her steps. Barbossa watched her carefully, curiously, as he kept step with her. Squirrel kept her face as blank as she could manage, but she knew her eyes were giving her away. What they were telling, though, even she couldn't tell. 

"Jack!"

"Oh, you're a sight for sore eyes, cap'n!"

"Hands t' the braces! Brawk!"

But Jack did not seem to be as pleased to see the crew as he was to see them. "Mister Gibbs!"

"Aye, cap'n?" Gibbs stopped, and stood straight in a manner of respect. The crew all halted behind him, in a line.

"There has been a persistent and virulent lack of discipline aboard my vessel as of late." Jack glowered; his kohl-rimmed eyes did not seem all too focused. "Why is that, sir?"

"Cap'n, you're…"Gibbs frowned in confusion, looking to the others for support or explanation. "You're in the Locker."

Jack hesitated, expressions flickering over his face. Finally, he found his tongue again. "I know that," He said, self-assured. Jack frowned at Gibbs, adding "And don't think I don't!"

Squirrel frowned to herself. This wasn't like Jack. Even for Jack Sparrow, he was acting strange. _Or strang__er__, as the case seems to be_.

"Jack Sparrow." Barbossa stepped out from the line.

"Ah, Hector!" Jack grinned, and sauntered up towards the man in black. Squirrel cringed back slightly, putting up the book as a shield, as Jack came towards her, but she stood her ground, forcing herself to watch the exchange. "It's been a long time… hasn't it?"

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, convivial. "Isla de Muerta, remember?" Coldness suddenly leapt into his tone. "Ye shot me."

Jack looked as innocent as a child. "No I didn't." He grinned, both uncertain and reassuring at the same time. It was as though he doubted his own senses, his own memories. As though reality weren't real enough to trust.

Squirrel's frown deepened. _I can read him? How? Why?_

Jack's eyes lit on Squirrel. He gave a girlish cry of delight and leapt towards her, arms wide. "Darlin'! You're here too? What a fortunate turn of events!" He clapped his hands together and grinned.

Standing between Barbossa and Tia, and with the eyes of all the crew on her, Squirrel could only give a feeble smile. "Hello, Jack." She was surprised that her voice didn't shake. "Long time no see." She felt like she couldn't breathe; her stomach was churning, and her head was spinning, and her heart was beating from two types of panic, just as it always had.

"You are such a lovely girl, you know that?" Jack stood before her, wobbling back and forth on the spot, his hands flailing foppishly in the air. "You're so much nicer than a goat."

She almost didn't register his words for a moment. When she did, she spent another few minutes trying to understand what he meant. No explanation was forthcoming from the grinning pirate, and Squirrel couldn't find anything at hand to explain it either. But Jack looked as though he were waiting for her to say something. So she did.

"… what?"

Jack's eyes slid off of Squirrel and onto Tia. "And Tia Dalma! Out and about, I see. How nice of you. You add a delightful sense of the macabre to any delirium." Tia managed a smile that was just as feeble as Squirrel's.

"Jack," Squirrel found her voice, "Are you… are you alright?"

He grinned at her. "Course I am! Never better! But you don't need to ask, luv, because you know right well, don't you?"

Squirrel glanced to her right, where a nonplussed Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "Though this be madness," Squirrel murmured, "There's no method in it."

Jack frowned slightly, then waggled a finger in Squirrel's face. "Oi, none o' that! If there's whisp'rin' t' be done, it's got to be sweet nothings, and it's got to be to me. But that's alright. Everything's alright now!" He twirled and faced the dunes, arms raised to the sky. "We're all alright now, aren't we? Course we are, that's where we are, ain't we?" Jack turned back, and looked at the gathered crew as though he'd never seen them before. "Oi, what are all you looking at? Didn't you hear me?" He suddenly slouched and waved his hands, his voice dropping low. "Captain gave his orders, you'd better listen to him. He gets right cranky after tea-time." His expression turned haughty, and he looked to his left. "Did I say you could speak? No, I did not. So back to your duties, sailor." His face went humble again, and he turned to his left. "My apologies, sir. I'll go fetch the blankets."

Barbossa glanced at Squirrel. "Oh, aye," he murmured dryly, "No method at all."

"I command you to shut it," Jack said suddenly, pointing imperiously in Barbossa's direction.

Barbossa frowned suddenly. "Is that me ring ye're wearin' there?"

"No." Jack curled his hand into a fist and cradled it to his chest. "It's mine. And even if I gave it to you, it would still be mine." He frowned darkly. "Why would you want it, anyways? You're not even here."

"Yes, we are," Squirrel looked at him, feeling her wits departing with every moment she tried to comprehend what the hell was happening. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"He thinks we're a hallucination," Will commented dryly.

Squirrel looked at Jack, carefully. _That explains a lot_.

Jack turned on the spot, then jogged over to Will. He assumed the air of someone in complete and utter control. "Tell me something, William. Did you come here because you need my help in the saving of a distressing damsel, or," he shook his head, then tried again, "A damsel in distress?" He paused a moment. "Either one, really."

Will looked at Jack flatly, his face blank. "No."

Jack pointed, a victor in his argument. "Well, then, you wouldn't be here, would you? QED, you're not really here!"

Squirrel raised an eyebrow, feeling incredible pity for the fool Jack had become. _He actually thinks he's able to find logical proof that we're not hallucinations, just from what he knows of us? _Squirrel glanced up the beach, towards the white sand plains. _This is a terrible place to have caused him to have lost his mind._ She looked at Jack again. _But then, he never had much sense to begin with_.

"Jack," Elizabeth pushed through Tai Huang's men, looking not out of place among them in her Chinese garb. "This is real. We're here."

Squirrel saw fear in Jack's eyes. He stared at Elizabeth, as though she were some unpleasant nightmare he thought he'd escaped; like she was a horror he could never be rid of. Then he turned and ran back down the column.

Squirrel didn't follow Jack with her eyes, this time. She looked instead to Miss Swann. Elizabeth caught Squirrel's eyes, and held her gaze a moment in almost-defiance, until she had to look away.

_Why would Jack fear you, Elizabeth?_ Squirrel wondered. _Wouldn't he be happy to see you again? What with your goodbye kiss and all? I know I called you a murderer, but… I only meant you left him to die. Did you really kill Jack? With your own hands?_ She looked down the beach again, feeling more conflicted than ever at the sight at him. _I need to hate him, dammit. I can't afford to fall in love with him again. But if I was wrong about this… No. No, I wasn't wrong. I can't be. And I'm not going to fall in love with him again_. But the doubt remained, gnawing at her.

"The Locker, you say," Jack asked Gibbs.

"Aye, sir."

"We came to rescue you." Elizabeth called.

"What?" Jack looked amused. "You lot, rescue me?" He motioned to the expanse around him, and then to the Pearl. "How kind. But seeing as how I'm the only one with a ship, it looks like I'm the one who'll be doing the rescuing." His eyes went hard as flint, and he glowered darkly at Elizabeth. "Not sure as I'm in the mood."

"I see my ship," Barbossa pushed a hand out to the sea, as though to capture the _Pearl_ in his fist. "Right there."

Jack pushed past him, squinting exaggeratedly. "Can't spot it. Must be a tiny thing, somewhere behind the Pearl." He turned and walked away from them all, smirking to himself. Squirrel stayed where she was as all the others ran forward, to try and plead with him. Tai Huang came and stood beside her, quizzically watching the drama unfold.

"Jack!" Will ran forward. "Cutler Beckett has the heart of Davy Jones, and he's controlling the _Flying Dutchman_."

"He's using it to take over the sea," Elizabeth joined in.

"Deh song 'as been soong," Tia added, "Deh Brethren Court has been called."

"Look what happens," Jack pushed through the crowd and kept walking, "I leave you alone for one second and everything goes to pot."

"_So this is the Jack Sparrow of story and legend?_" Tai Huang sounded sceptical. "_He seems a fool_."

"_He's a lot more than he appears_," Squirrel said, voice low. "_Underestimate him, and you'll find he uses that to his advantage_."

Tai Huang looked at Squirrel curiously. "_How well __do__ you know him, Songshu?_"

She didn't like the insinuation in his tone. "_Well enough not to play cards with him_," she replied evenly. Tai Huang and his men all chuckled.

"Aye, Jack," Gibbs called out, "The world needs you back something fierce."

"And you need a crew," Will added.

Jack considered these facts a moment, then turned back to face his rescuers. "Why should I sail with any of you?" He asked, drawling his words, not even masking the petulant anger. "Four of you tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded."

All eyes turned to Elizabeth. Squirrel saw the horror and the disbelief on Will's face; saw Elizabeth hesitate, trying to find words to speak, to say… But what could she have said? Even Tia Dalma had not known this, judging from her expression. Squirrel herself was aghast._ You really did kill Jack?_

"Oh," Jack grinned, his eyes dark as ever with mischievous knowledge. "She's not told you. Well, you'll have loads to talk about while you're 'ere." He turned away from Will and Elizabeth, dismissing them to their fate, and turned to Tia Dalma. He went up to her, sneering. "As for you…"

But Tia just laughed and purred, tilting her head coquettishly. "Now, don't tell me you didn't… enjoy it at the time?" She teased Jack's beaded beard through her fingers. Squirrel tightened her grip on the book with one hand, and clenched the other into a fist.

Jack grinned, and nodded. "Fair enough, alright, you're in." He moved past Ragetti. "Don't need you, you scare me. Gibbs, you can come, Marty… eugh …" He passed Pintel. "Cotton…"

_Just as before_, Squirrel thought distastefully, as he came her way down the line. _Picking and choosing who you'll keep to ensure your safety. We mean nothing to you as people, do we, Jack? We're just… numbers on the ship's roster. Hell hasn't changed you a bit. People mean nothing to you but how useful they are._

"…Cotton's parrot I'm a little iffy… but at least I'll have someone to talk to." Jack's eyes flicked to Squirrel, then snapped to the man who stood at her right. "Who're you?"

"Tai Huang. These are my men."

Jack didn't hesitate for an instant. He knew an opportunity when he saw one. "And where do your allegiances lie?

"With the highest bidder," Tai Huang said, unashamedly. Squirrel raised an eyebrow incredulously at his pride as a mercenary.

Jack pointed to the _Pearl_. "I have a ship."

Tai Huang nodded, "That makes you the highest bidder."

"Good man." Jack turned away and started shouting orders. "Weigh anchor, all hands! Prepare to make sail!" As the crew headed to the shoreline, Jack turned and stared out over the sand, thumbs hitched in his belt, as though he had all the time in the world. But he didn't say anything. He was just waiting.

Squirrel tried not to show how much this scared her, how much it made her angry. "What about me, Jack?" She looked up at him, trying to look as coquettish as Tia but knowing she was failing. "Do you want me?"

Jack glanced at her, his lips curving in a slight smile. Then he shrugged and looked away. "Well, luv, it's your choice, innit? Far be it from me to force you to do anything against your will. Though," he dropped his voice and looked at her from under languorous eyelids, "I've a pretty good idea of what you're going to pick." He winked.

Squirrel smiled faintly at him, but inside she was screaming. _So that's it, is it? I'm just an afterthought? And you… You can't even say… You never answer my questions, Jack! Ever! Am I worth anything to you at all?_ She started walking down the beach, heading for the shore, forcing her eyes not to fill with tears. _Should never have come here. Should never have come_.

Barbossa held the charts in his arms; Will stood beside Elizabeth, the pair of them exchanging awkward and pained glances; Pintel and Ragetti stood behind the captain, wearing matching hangdog expressions. All the group watched expressionlessly as Squirrel made her way across the sands towards the water.

Then Squirrel turned to join them, and smiled tightly at their five matching looks of surprise. She went and stood at Barbossa's right, and - on an impulse - she threaded her arm through his, switching _Hamlet_ to her other hand to do so. Barbossa looked down at her, both eyebrows raised; Squirrel just stared stonily at the back of Jack's head, daring him to turn around and see this. To see what choice she'd made. To see if that's what he was expecting. She pushed her cloak back from her shoulders, revealing her open shirt and the blood-red sash of knives. She wouldn't be what Jack was expecting anymore. Not this time.

Jack turned, the compass in his hands. He stared at it in confusion and consternation, then clicked it shut. It clearly wasn't showing him the way. He stared down at the sand, mouth twisted. Jack didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Jack," Barbossa drawled, smirking, drumming his fingers on the charts. "Which way ye goin', Jack?" The monkey leapt up to his shoulder and screeched.

Jack pulled a face, unenthusiastic about having to agree to this. "Fine," he muttered. "You can come…" He looked up to glower at Barbossa. Then he stopped, and wavered where he stood. Jack could not have looked more surprised, more horrified, more confused, more hurt. If the compass had been merely vexing, then Squirrel hanging off Barbossa's arm was one of the signs of the apocalypse. Squirrel found she couldn't look at Jack as defiantly as she would have liked; she looked out over the sands instead, trying to appear nonchalant. She saw Will, out the corner of her eye, staring at her as though she'd lost her mind.

Barbossa smiled benignly. "Best hurry, then," he burred, "Wouldn't want t' lose the _Pearl_ t' the tide." He took his arm from Squirrel, gently pushing her aside to hold out his hand to Jack. "An uneasy alliance?"

Jack looked at Barbossa's hand distastefully, and refused to shake. "An unholy one." Then he strode down to the beach, and left the others to follow in his wake.

_So that's it, then_. Squirrel bit her lip and clutched _Hamlet_ in both hands, keeping her eyes on Jack's back as she walked. _We rescue him, and yet he's made us feel as though we should be indebted to him for his generosity_. She looked up at the white-hot sky. _I'll be glad to be out of this place, she thought, but it's not as though being on the _Pearl_ will be any better. But still I'll be happy to leave the sands of Hell behind_…

Squirrel stopped a moment, then hurriedly pulled the glass bottle from out of her sash. She unstoppered it, and, keeping one eye on the group walking down the beach, she dragged the bottle in the white sands until it was full. Then stoppered the bottle and tucked it surreptitiously into her belt as she jogged to catch up with the group, a grim smile about her lips.

Tai Huang had brought back another longboat for them from the _Pearl_. Barbossa went to sit at the prow with his charts, and the others all climbed in behind him. Jack waited on the shoreline, fingers flicking absently in the air, as Squirrel finally managed to join them. Squirrel halted at his glance. Jack looked at her so casually, so coolly. But there was something in his eyes, a question he didn't have the words to ask. And which Squirrel didn't have the words to answer.

She tried anyway. "Jack…"

But he just made a sweeping gesture to the longboat. "Ladies first," he stepped aside for her. She moved gingerly past him, trying to catch his eye as she did so. She wanted to talk to him, but what could she have said? It would have all come out wrong, anyway. And he was looking elsewhere, ignoring her. Squirrel climbed into the lifeboat and sat down. Jack climbed in and sat beside her - there was no other place for him to sit. Pintel and Ragetti manned the oars, and the lifeboat slowly crossed the seas towards the _Black Pearl_.

Squirrel rested _Hamlet_ on her knees and stroked the cover with distracted fingers. She would have thought she'd have something to say. Phrases and words which would express how she felt at this point in time. She'd practiced many of them on the _Diana_. And not just words, either, but emotions. She knew how she _should_ feel. She'd prepared for every eventuality, but Jack - forever the wild card in any and every game - rendered all words useless, and confused how she was feeling. Talking to an empty room wasn't the same as standing before the man himself.

Jack Sparrow. That incorrigible bastard, that unpredictable fool. Sitting beside him was both pleasure and pain to Squirrel, discomfort and delight. The cloak and the coin of hers had only brought back memories, and memories were never the same as the real thing. In all manners of appearance, he looked just the same: the kohl around his eyes, the beads in his hair, his coat, his hat, all the paraphernalia hanging from his belt and sash. The smell of his clothes and the sound of his voice were just as they'd been in her dreams and remembrances. But this was the man himself. He was alive. Somehow him being here, especially so close, made all this - all the memories, all that had happened - so completely and utterly real that Squirrel was at a loss to understand the implications of it all.

_This is a fool's errand. But I have to try, at least. I have to._

She glanced at Jack, unable to look at him directly. He was staring out over the sea, that same proud tilt to his head he always had whenever he was on the sea. But his lips were pressed together, and his eyes were distant. There was no telling what he was thinking, but he clearly wasn't in the best of moods.

Then he turned to look at her. His eyes were dark and deep, like the ocean at midnight, when no moon or stars shone. Squirrel found herself lost in those eyes, despite her better judgement, despite her promises, despite her pain. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, feel it beneath her skin. Jack considered her a long while in silence. Then he leant towards her and murmured in her ear, with a breath which sent shivers down her spine and with words which laid a heavy burden of guilt upon her heart.

"You don't seem all that happy to see me, luv."

His eyes looked deeply into hers, with all the sorrow of the unrighteously wronged, with all the plea of a broken heart. Squirrel held his gaze for as long as she was able, then turned away.

**

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**

**A/N**: Well, this is going to be an interesting voyage. Reviews welcomed, as are suggestions. (I'm getting a lot of 'ship suggestions, which is fun.)

_Squirrel as a goat. Lol._


	5. Chuanzuang

**Disclaimer**: I'll still want that disclaimer. Consider that into your calculations.

**A/N**: This chapter was very hard to write, particularly the second half. Hope it turns out to your liking.

* * *

It was eerie to be back on the _Black Pearl_ again, after all this time. Familiar, but eerie. It was as though they'd never been gone. At the stern, one of the elaborate metal lanterns was warped beyond repair. Squirrel remembered ducking the shards of broken glass when the _Dutchman_'s fore-guns had roared across the water. On the deck was a bloody handprint - hers, from when she'd fought the Kraken - and a small gouge in the wood from where she'd stabbed the deck with her dagger. There were other similar scars across the ship, but generally speaking the _Black Pearl_ was in fine shape - better, in fact, than it had been when it had sunk. Even the gaping hole in captain's cabin had been repaired. Squirrel credited the unnatural power of Davy Jones and his Locker for such a boon. 

But she didn't want to thank him. Not for one instant.

The deck was bustling with activity. As the wind began to tease at the sails, the crew were going about their tasks, and Tai Huang's men tried to do the same, acclimatising themselves to the rigging and the sheets. Squirrel herself was sitting by the captain's cabin, under the shade of the steps, watching it all unfold around her. She felt exhausted, wearied by the weight of the day's events and her own thoughts. Jack the monkey was keeping her company, and she was glad for it, even if he merely wanted her to pet him.

Barbossa and Jack were wasting no time reminding each other why they never got along. Squirrel watched them both, half-smiling to herself. The mother of a troublesome child would have worn a similar expression of wearied affection, though perhaps with far more serenity than Squirrel currently possessed.

"Trim that sail!"

"Trim that sail!"

"Slack windward brace and sheet!"

"Slack windward brace and sheet!"

"Haul that pennant line!"

"Haul that pennant line!"

Barbossa halted, putting himself in Jack's path, brandishing the rolled-up charts like a club. "What _are_ ye doin'?"

Jack wasn't done parroting Barbossa just yet. "What are _you_ doing?"

"No, what ARE ye doin'?"

"What are YOU doing?"

"No, what _ARE_ ye doin'?"

"What are _YOU_ doing?" Perhaps realising that this could go on forever, Jack found something else to say. "Captain gives orders on the ship!"

"The captain of the ship is givin' orders," Barbossa said, glaring icily.

Jack refused to back down. "My ship. Makes me captain."

Barbossa raised the charts again. "They be my charts."

"That makes you…" Jack gestured, "Chartman!"

_This isn't going to end anytime soon_, Squirrel thought despairingly, as Barbossa prepared another retort.

"STOW IT! THE BOTH OF YOU! THAT'S AN ORDER! UNDERSTAND?"

A silence fell across all the ship. Even Jack and Barbossa ceased their bickering to stare.

_Well_, Squirrel thought, as startled as anyone else, _I've been wrong before_.

Pintel managed to maintain his authority for a few more seconds before he fell back into his old role as swab. "Sorry! Just, I just thought with the Captain issue in doubt and all, thought I'd throw my name in for consideration." He cringed under the combined stare of the two captains. "Sorry."

Squirrel rose to her feet and moved forward, the monkey clambering up to perch on her shoulder. "You know," she said, standing in as a mediator, "We could just sort this out the pirate's way."

Jack and Barbossa looked at her suspiciously.

"A vote," Squirrel elaborated. "Let's put the captaincy to a vote."

Barbossa and Jack exchanged glances, challenging each other. Neither of them were going to speak until the other did, and even then, they'd probably just disagree with the other out of principle, regardless of what either of them really thought.

_Good grief_, Squirrel thought, wearily. _They're like a couple of children_. Without waiting to hear what either Jack or Hector had to say about her plan, she stepped forward and raised her voice. "_Hoi!_ _Ni men! Ni men le!_"1 Tai Huang's crewmen all looked to her, giving her their attention. Tai Huang himself folded his arms and smirked. Squirrel looked at the faces turned her way, made sure they were all listening. "_Who would you rather have as your captain?_" She asked, in Chinese. She gestured to Barbossa and Jack, who stood behind her. "_The man with the ship, or the man with the charts?_"

"_We've already promised our services to Sparrow_," Tai Huang said, loud enough for both Squirrel and his men to hear. "_We have honour enough that we would not go back on our word_."

Squirrel nodded. "_Understandable. But if you had to chose, who you would follow as captain?_"

The Chinese crewmen all exchanged glances, muttering amongst themselves. Tai Huang looked at Squirrel carefully, narrowing his eyes in thought.

Squirrel looked over her shoulder. Barbossa had his arms folded, willing to wait til the end of time if need be. But Jack looked completely and utterly gobsmacked. Jack's incredulity made Squirrel smile, a smile she quickly smothered. She could explain herself later.

"_Songshu Chuanzuang_!"2 One of the crewmen called out.

Wide-eyed, Squirrel looked back to the crew. "_Shumuh_?"

But her protest wasn't heard. The cry of '_Songshu Chuanzuang!_' was picked up by the rest of Tai Huang's men until it was a chant. Even Tai Huang himself was saying it, smirking all the while.

"_B-b-bu shir!_" Squirrel held up frantic hands. "_Bu shir_!"3

"Well?" Barbossa raised an eyebrow.

"So, who's captain?" Jack asked, at almost the same time.

"Eeeh…" Squirrel made a pained noise. _How am I supposed to say this?_

Ragetti put his hand in the air. "Can I vote for Squirrel?"

Barbossa and Jack turned to glare at him. "No, Master Ragetti, ye may not."

"So shut it."

"Actually…" Squirrel cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound a little stronger. "Actually, he's not in the minority."

Barbossa and Jack turned back to stare at Squirrel. The monkey squirmed restlessly on her shoulder. After a long moment, Jack snorted with laughter. "You? Captain?"

Squirrel frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

Jack wiped the grin from his face, looking serious but his eyes were sparkling with merriment. "Luv, for all you're a wonderful help aboard the ship, you can't be a captain."

Squirrel put her hands on her hips. She knew he was baiting her, but she didn't care. "And why not?"

"Well…" Jack grinned, and gestured at her. "You're a girl, luv."

Barbossa had the grace to keep silent, but his raised eyebrow spoke volumes. Squirrel glared at the both of them.

"Oh, so it's a woman can't take control of a ship and a crew, is it?" She asked, lapsing into pirate grammar. "Something in our nature leaves us deficient in the area of taking responsibility?" She put her hands on her hips and swayed to the side slightly, posturing n a way that exaggerated her womanly features. "So, p'raps I'd be best leaving all the hard work to the men? You two have done such a _wonderful_ job before, and you continue that _fine_ tradition to this very day."

"No need t' be so sarcastic, angel," Barbossa said, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Jack opened his mouth to offer his own opinion, but was thrown off-track. "'Angel'?" He glanced between Barbossa and Squirrel, halfway horrified and halfway disbelieving. "What?"

Squirrel turned back to Tai Huang, who was grinning at the exchange. "My last name is _Hui-se_," she told him, flatly, so that everyone could understand.

"_Hui-se Chuanzuang_!"4 Tai Huang shouted, grinning, and all the Chinese crewmen picked up the cry.

Squirrel turned back and shrugged at the incredulous Barbossa and Jack. "Looks like the votes call it."

Jack quickly staggered over to Squirrel, putting himself before her. "Darlin'," he smiled, ingratiatingly, and didn't seem notice when Squirrel winced at the smell of his breath. "You misunderstood me before. When I said you couldn't be captain 'coz you were a girl I meant…" He flailed both arms and swayed in front of her, "I meant that it's a very draining. A very, _very_ strenuous role." He looked at her, eyes filled with concern. "Terribly stressful, it is. Not for the likes of those not suited to such pressures of having everyone look up to you, and such."

Squirrel couldn't help but raise a disdainful eyebrow. _Since when have we looked up to you? And since when has being captain been stressful for you? You cut and run whenever you get the chance._ "So, you don't think I'm strong enough to handle it?"

Jack back-pedalled. "I didn't say that, luv. What I'm sayin' is p'raps you should leave the hard work of bein' a captain of a ship to someone with a little more… experience in the matter." He made a small gesture with both hands that pointed to himself.

"Hrm." Squirrel put her hand to her chin, as though considering it, "Good point, Jack." She glanced in Barbossa's direction. Jack repeated the gesture, a little wider and more insistently. Squirrel looked back to Jack, sardonically, "I could be a captain, Jack. I'd think I'd be a very good one, at that."

"Nyeeh…"

Squirrel raised an eyebrow. "What, you can't stand the idea of being under a woman?"

"Well," Jack grinned impishly, "When you put it like that, it doesn't seem so bad."

Squirrel refused to blush. "Another comment like that, Jack Sparrow, and I'll have your guts for garters."

"Ooh, then I'll be more'n happy to keep talking, if only it means I end up wrapped around your thighs."

This time she was bright red, she was sure of it. But Squirrel wasn't about to let him have the last word. "Actually," she murmured, nonchalantly checking her nails, "What would I need garters for? I stopped wearing stockings a _long_ time ago." She gave a wide, savage grin.

Jack looked startled a moment, then made a small groaning noise in the back of his throat.

"May I cut in?" Barbossa stepped forward.

Jack recovered his composure. "We're in the middle of something, in case you didn't notice."

Barbossa ignored him, and fixed Squirrel with his most endearing of smiles. "Angel… if they've chosen ye as captain, I've no argument with that. But should ye need a first mate, I beg ye t' remember me, and all that we've been through t'gether." He took off his hat and made a deep sweeping bow. He even took hold of her hand and kissed it. Squirrel giggled, feeling her face redden.

Jack gaped for a second, then he took off his hat bowed as well. By some 'coincidence', he also just happened to smack Barbossa in the face with it. "No, make me the first mate. After all, luv," he waggled his eyebrows, "You do happen to know me better." He took hold of Squirrel's other hand and kissed that, though far less gentlemanly. When she got her hand back, Squirrel surreptitiously wiped it on the leg of her pants.

"I wouldn't say she knows _ye_ better," Barbossa smirked, straightening up. "And I thought ye'd rather be 'captain' than first mate." He looked disdainfully at Jack, "'First Mate Jack Sparrow' don't quite have the same ring to it, wouldn't ye say?"

Jack pulled a petulant face. "Well, who am I to argue with popular opinion? 'Sides, Squirrel's a capable enough lass."

"Oh, aye, no question there. She's a wide range of abilities."

"Not to mention she's uncannily clever."

"In addition to all her other charms." Barbossa grinned at Jack tauntingly.

Jack nodded, refusing to rise to the bait. "Oh, yes, of course, of course."

_If they were complimenting me instead of merely trying to outdo each other_, Squirrel sighed inwardly, _Then_ _I might be flattered by all this_.

"So I've no doubt of her whatsoever. I think she'd make a fine cap'n."

Jack frowned, affronted. "I don't doubt her either."

"Oh, really?" Barbossa folded his arms again. "A moment ago, ye were tryin' t' convince her that she couldn't handle that responsibility."

"I was not."

"Ye were too."

"Was not."

"Were too, and don't ye deny it."

Squirrel looked back and forth between them as they continued to bicker. Jack the monkey played with the jade ornament hanging from Squirrel's left earring, and gave a bored coo. Eventually, Squirrel turned away from the two captains and raised her voice. Even to her own ears, she sounded weary.

"_Ni men, dui bu chi! Wo bu keyi chuangzuang le._"5

All the Chinese crewmen looked disheartened. Tai Huang looked like he was fighting not to laugh. "_Wo ming ji, Songshu. Ming ji_."6

Jack tapped Squirrel on the shoulder. "What? What's goin' on?"

"I just forfeited my captaincy."

"What? Why would you do that?"

Squirrel gave him a look, then rolled her eyes, shook her head, and sighed. "_Pick one of them!_" She called to the crew, throwing an arm back to gesture. "_Either Barbossa or Sparrow! One of them!_"

The Chinese crew all muttered amongst themselves, and turned away. Tai Huang glanced back at his men, then shrugged. Then he, too, turned his back and went to his duties.

Squirrel turned back to Jack and Barbossa, and shrugged with both palms out. "Well, I tried to help. Looks like this is something you'll just have to figure out on your own."

Barbossa and Jack stared at her a moment longer, digesting this, then glanced at each other. The spark of competition was relit. As one, they both turned and rushed for the helm, jostling each other as they climbed the stairs. Squirrel watched them go, and wearily shook her head.

"This is going to be a _long_ voyage," she murmured, reaching up to scratch the monkey behind its ears. It gurgled in what Squirrel imagined to be agreement, then leapt away to clamber through the rigging.

Elizabeth came from below, her mouth set in a tight line as she crossed the deck. Her eyes met with Squirrel's, and she paused a moment. Squirrel did nothing, showed nothing on her face. Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, and moved silently but with sure footing to the prow. Squirrel watched as the golden-haired young woman put herself apart from the rest of the crew. Squirrel watched her go, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. She herself had worn a similar expression, had walked a similar path many times before. _Running from someone, Lizzie? Want to be alone with your thoughts?_ Squirrel went below.

And just as she suspected, she found Will straight away. He was leaning against the lower half of the mast, staring at the wood grain. There was hurt and self-reproach in his eyes.

"So we were both wrong," Squirrel murmured.

Will turned his eyes to look at her, but didn't move from where he stood. "So it seems." He stared at the wood again. "She killed Jack so that we could escape the Kraken. So that we could all have a chance to escape." He rested his forehead against his arm. "It wasn't because she loved him."

"So it seems," Squirrel echoed. Her conscience gave a short twinge. Shouldering that aside, she came a little closer to Will, but kept him at arm's length. His reproach from a few nights ago still stung, though she wasn't about to tell him that.

Will sighed, and hit the mast with his fist. "I was a fool."

"You weren't a fool," Squirrel looked through the shadows of the hold with a short sigh. "You were in love." _And you still are_.

She heard Will give a breath of laughter, self-mocking. "I seem to recall having this conversation before."

"Yes," Squirrel agreed, looking back. "Nothing's changed."

Will turned to face her, half-curious and half-disparaging. "What about Jack?"

"Nothing's changed," she repeated, and there was anger and pain in her words she didn't realise was there until she spoke them. She didn't want to see the look in Will's eyes, so she looked away again. "Nothing's changed," she said, softer, "We keep going."

There was a silence between them for a moment, then Will sighed. "You don't have to do this. This isn't your burden to bear. He's my father, and I'm the one who promised to save him."

"I know," Squirrel looked to him. "But I gave my word. And I'm going to keep it." She turned to climb the stairs again, but Will set a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

His eyes were grateful, but concerned. He looked as though he wanted to try to convince her to change her mind. Squirrel waited, expression even, saying nothing. Eventually, Will took his hand from Squirrel's shoulder, and smiled with half his mouth.

"Thankyou," he said.

Squirrel managed the faintest ghost of a smile in return. "I owe you that much." She turned back to the stairs and started climbing.

"Don't give us away," Will murmured, his voice low, and almost dangerous.

Squirrel closed her eyes and smiled wryly. Those were her words, her threat. It was ironic that she should be on the receiving end of them this time. "Don't worry," she glanced back to him, one eye closed, "I won't."

But his face was hard, and he did not smile back.

* * *

"…'_Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star; this must not be', and then I precepts gave her, that she should lock herself from his resort, admit no messengers, receive no tokens_…" 

Squirrel closed the book, and ran her fingers along its spine. Long shadows were growing as the white light turned to gold. The _Black Pearl_ continued her voyage across the trackless seas, headed who-knows-where. Squirrel stood at the port side, leaning on the railing and staring out to sea. A golden orb of fire was slowly descending over the sea, though it would be several hours yet before it touched the water.

_So there is a sun in this place_, Squirrel thought absently, setting the book down on the crate beside her. _But where on earth are we? And how do we get out of here?_

"Ahem."

Squirrel turned to look at him before she could stop herself. Jack smiled faintly at her, his eyes fond; Squirrel turned back to the sea, her gut churning. On one hand, she had to pretend that nothing was wrong. She couldn't let her and Will's plans count for nothing. But on the other hand, the memory of Jack's betrayal - was it really a betrayal? Everything was being called into question now that he was alive again - left Squirrel wanting to stay out of Jack's way, out of his presence. She couldn't bear to have him close, but she felt a horrible ache when he wasn't near. Squirrel's grip on the railing tightened. _Nothing's changed - I'm still hopeless_.

Jack sighed and came to stand beside her. "It's alright, luv." He looked down at her, then turned his eyes out over the water. "I understand. I understand why you're not happy to see me."

Squirrel glanced at him, fighting with both suspicion and alarm. "You… you do?"

"Oh, yes," Jack nodded, his eyes sad and distant. "I don't blame you." Then he looked at her, and smiled in reassurance. "But have no fear, luv. Once we're out of this place, it won't be necrophilia."

Squirrel stared at Jack for a moment. "What…" Then it made sense. "Urgh! Jack! Gah!" She screwed her eyes tight and shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts and images. "No, Jack! Argh, that wasn't what I was thinking at all!"

Jack just grinned. "Really?"

"Aurgh…" Squirrel glared at him, but couldn't help but laugh. "You're disgusting."

"Now there's a smile," Jack pointed. "I missed seein' that."

"Oh, please." Squirrel folded her arms and looked out at the sea again. "As if I wasn't smiling when you and Hector were bickering like an old married couple."

The time it was Jack who winced. "Eurgh…" Squirrel smirked. After a few moments in silence, Jack looked at Squirrel thoughtfully. "It's good t' see you again, luv."

"Mmm?" She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"You know," Jack took hold of one of the lines and hung lazily on it, "I must confess, I've been thinking about you all this time."

Squirrel couldn't stop the laugh that leapt from her lips. "Jack, please." She looked at him, smiling in self-mockery. "One hundred days in Davy Jones' Locker? You had more important things to think about than me during that time, surely."

Jack looked stunned. "It was only that long?" His voice was a hoarse whisper. "_Only_ one hundred days?"

The look on his face was enough to silence Squirrel completely. She stared down at her fingers, feeling guilty. _He really was being punished_.

"Luv?"

"Yes," Squirrel nodded. "Yes, one hundred days."

Jack pulled his lips back from his teeth for a moment, like a cornered animal, then looked to her. "And you were coming for me all that time?"

Squirrel wove her fingers together, feeling awkward. "Across the Atlantic, around Cape Horn, across the Indian Sea, through the Malacca Straits to Singapore, then on to the Locker." She glanced at Jack, furtively. "All for you." She looked away, the guilt growing.

"Not an easy journey, then," Jack's voice was low.

"No." She shrugged, forcing a smile. "But we all have to make some sacrifices." The smile didn't stay in place for long.

Jack let go of the rope, and leant down on the railing to gaze at her. Squirrel couldn't help it - she found herself drawn to those eyes of his, those puppy-dog eyes that sent shivers down her spine and made her heart skip a beat.

"You're still not all that happy to see me, though," he whispered, reaching out a hand. Squirrel let him brush his fingers across his face; she closed her eyes as she felt the caress that she'd both dreamed and dreaded. She felt his fingers tease her earring, felt him lift and then drop the jade ornament that hung from it. His thumb brushed the rose of her cheek. Then his hand withdrew. Squirrel opened her eyes, and turned, looking for him, wanting to know why he'd stopped. He was standing before her, inches from her, eyes filled with a question.

Squirrel closed her eyes and gave a heavy sigh. "You died, Jack." There were no tears in her eyes, but her voice was strained. "You died." She stepped back, one step, two steps, then turned to face the sea, biting her lip. There was a pressure inside her chest. She gasped, trying to relieve it, but it was still there, crushing her from the inside. She had to breathe through her mouth, or she couldn't breathe at all.

_The only way I can be free of him is to look him in the eye and feel nothing_. She'd been so confident when she'd spoken those words, when he was dead. But here, now… With Jack inches from her, with those eyes of his staring deep at her, with the feeling of his fingers on her skin still burning… Squirrel wasn't feeling nothing for him. She was feeling everything. All her plans, all her promises, all she'd done for herself up to this point in time, was unravelling. And she couldn't decide whether she cared or not.

_It's a fool's errand, I know. I'll just fall into that trap all over again_.

"Darlin'…"

"I'm sorry." Squirrel wiped her eyes, even though she wasn't crying. "I just… I can't…"

"Luv," Jack went to her, turned her to face him, "It's alright." He stepped back, giving her some space. "I don't blame you. I understand. It's not an easy thing to come t' terms with." He sighed and looked out to sea again. "May take more'n a hundred days, too."

Squirrel clenched a fist, then unclenched it, and watched her fingers unfurl. She stared at her palm, at the ravaged skin which had long-since healed; at the calluses on her thumb and fingers from hauling on ropes. She lowered her hand again, and looked out over the water. She was glad, in a way, that Jack had latched onto this one excuse. If he thought that his return from death was all that bothered Squirrel, then that was fine. She could keep the real reason to herself.

Jack smiled at Squirrel, fondly. "I don't mind the wait, though. After all, I survived a hundred days in the Locker all by me onesome. Another hundred days with you, here, doesn't bother me." Then he frowned slightly, his head twitching to the left, and his eyes glazing. "Though," he added, recovering from his momentary tic, "Should it take less than a hundred days, it wouldn't faze me in the slightest."

"Of course it wouldn't," Squirrel said dryly, "Nothing fazes you."

Jack grinned, back to his usual self again. "Would rum help? I mean, I wouldn't want to rush you or anything, but…"

"Better not," she said nonchalantly. Jack's mood was infectious. Squirrel would have time to worry about herself later. For now she just wanted to be happy, and be happy in his company. He was back, after all. Best make the most of it.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Well," Squirrel gestured with one hand, "Let's just say, metaphorically-speaking, that perhaps I'd rather not have anything to do with the stuff?"

He waggled his eyebrows roguishly. "You wound me, luv. Not even the tiniest sip?"

"Rum's bad for you," Squirrel folded her arms, fighting not to smile. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"It's only bad in moderation," he purred. "A drink or two, here and there… Does you the world of good."

She closed one eye and glanced at him. "No, Jack. I don't want anything to do with the bottle."

"You don't have to drink from the bottle. I wouldn't force you to do that if you didn't want to. Plenty of other ways to have rum, you know."

She pulled her lips to one side, closed her eyes and struggled with laughter. She lost the fight with the blush, though. "Jack, I don't want any rum."

"Course, I understand." Jack's eyes sparkled with glee. "Not right now. But later?"

"No. I'd still have a problem with it." She looked at him, trying to convey the seriousness of her words.

Jack frowned slightly at her. "How could you have a problem with rum? Rum's good." He hesitated a moment to think. "It's not one of those girly things, is it?"

"No, it's just I drink too much."

Jack grinned, and opened his mouth. Then he stopped. He looked at her, tilting his head, confused and a little shocked. "… what?"

Squirrel sighed. _And thus, the metaphor breaks down_.

Jack gestured wildly up towards the helm, where Barbossa was at the wheel. "Is… is that… you an' 'im?" His eyes were wide in alarm. "Barbossa an' you? He an' you are… wait, that's can't be…" He put both hands to his head, as though his brain hurt. "So when he called you 'angel', you… you called him 'Hector'… you and he are…" Jack's limp-wristed hands twitched at chest-height, and his tongue hung from his mouth as he gagged. "Eurgh!"

"No!" Squirrel interrupted, determined to at least keep her good name, if nothing else. "No, no-no, no… No."

Jack looked at her, still a little sickened and concerned. "So, what…?"

Squirrel sighed. "After you died, I started drinking." She fixed him with a hard eye, trying to make him understand. "Drinking alcohol. Just so I could get drunk." She looked out to sea. "I've stopped now."

Jack seemed to calm down at this explanation. He glanced uneasily at Barbossa again, then back to Squirrel. "So, you're not… with him?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No. I'm not."

"So why's he call you 'angel', then?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "He just does."

"He just… does?" Jack glared at the helm, suspiciously. "Does he, now?"

Squirrel bit her lip to hide the smile. _Wonderful. I've become another reason for their rivalry. The whole thing was absurd already_.

Jack looked back to Squirrel. "Why'd you start drinking, anyway?"

Squirrel looked away. "I didn't know how else to deal with it." She flapped a hand. "With you… being dead." Jack nodded, seemingly understanding the gravity of the situation. Squirrel took a breath. "I promised I wouldn't anymore, so…"

"Huh." Jack didn't particularly sound like he believed her; Squirrel didn't particularly care. He turned to look out to sea with affected nonchalance, and Squirrel couldn't help but stare at him. Her eyes drunk in every aspect of him: his profile, his clothes, his stance, his scars (at least, the ones she could see), the ways his fingers curled and uncurled as he stood there, silently contemplating the ocean.

_Captain Jack Sparrow_. She smiled, half to herself. _For all your faults and follies… I'm happy with you here_.

"… when the time comes," Jack murmured.

Squirrel frowned slightly. "When the time comes, what?"

"What?" Jack twirled to look at her. "What you say?"

She frowned in confusion. "You said, 'when the time comes'. What did you mean?"

Jack looked at her, then his eyes shifted left, right, left. Then he shrugged, upper body veering to the left while his feet stayed firm, and grinned for all he was worth. "Did I say that? Silly me." He tapped his knuckles to the brim of his hat as a salute to her, then turned and sauntered off.

Squirrel watched him go, sighing with a smile. _Nothing's changed about you, Jack. You're still the mad, maddening creature you always were_. And then she caught herself, and felt cold. _What am I doing?_ She looked at her hand, her clenched fist. _What am I doing? I promised I wouldn't…_ She sighed, wearily. _I want to be happy. And sometimes he can make me forget how miserable I am. How miserable he makes me feel_. She closed her eyes and swayed on the spot, that weight in her chest making it hard for her to breathe again. _I can't do this. I have to be strong. I have to be! I can't let myself do this!_ Squirrel snatched _Hamlet_ up and hurried below decks, wanting to be out of the sunlight, wanting to be somewhere quiet. Her eyes were stinging.

Everything below decks of the _Pearl_ was just as it was above decks: just as she remembered it. The hammocks, the crates, the stairs, the cannons… Even the curtain still hung in place. She pushed it aside then pulled it closed behind her. She stood a moment in the familiar space, staring at the two bunk beds built into the wall. The sight of them reminded her of how tired she was. She gave a low sob, and fell forward. She knelt before the lower bunk, her body stretched flat over the covers, the rest of her left on the floor. She closed her eyes and sobbed to herself, burying her face in the blankets.

_I want to hate him!_ She thought, _I have to hate him in order to keep my promises! But how can I hate him like this? How can I hate him when he makes me laugh?_ She turned her head and stared out at nothing, feeling wave after wave of despair wash over her. _Am I ever going to be free of him? Can I ever be happy when my 'wings are chained' like this?_ She sighed, a tear rolling down to the tip of her nose. _Damn my heart. It hurts to have him dead, it hurts to have him alive, and it hurts even thinking about him_. _I have to feel nothing for him. I can't fall in love all over again. I don't want to be hurt like that again. I can't._

Squirrel closed her eyes, and the thoughts in her head advanced and receded like the tide on the shore.

**

* * *

**

1 Hoi! All of you!

2 Captain Squirrel!

3 N-n-no! No!

4 Captain Grey! (lit, Captain Grey-coloured. You remember Sao Feng's words, right?)

5 Guys, I'm sorry. I can't be captain.

6 I understand, Squirrel. I get it.

**A/N**: I'll be travelling to Canada (!exclamation-mark!), so I doubt I'll have a chapter for you in the next two weeks. Sorreh. As always, though, reviews and suggestions are welcomed, and more often than not are used/replied to. (Hannah, I can't get through to you for some reason. I think your email's busted.)


	6. The Dead

**Disclaimer**: After a man has all the disclaimer in the world, what could he possibly want?

**A/N**: I APOLOGISE. I know, I know; I said two weeks. I could tell you in great detail about my frightful saga where my plane broke, and there was a two day layover waiting for another flight, with no money and no communications, and then I get back home with only one day to sleep off the jetlag before I have to leave on a week-long conference, but you don't need to hear about that. You just want the next chapter and it's LATE. Bad author, BAD! Well, better late than never. _Mea culpa_ and all that.

Warning, angst ahead. But that's to be expected with my writing, aye?

* * *

The night air was cool, but not chilling. Squirrel rubbed her arms nonetheless as she stared out over the starless sky and the coal black sea. She'd tried to sleep, and failed; a minor nap, kneeling before the bed, with tears rolling down her face was all she'd managed. She'd thought the air would clear her head. She was wrong, but at least it made her feel a little more at ease. The familiarity of being on the _Black Pearl_ was a balm for her torn heart. The ship's rhythm, even on these foreign and unnatural waters, rocked her gently. Squirrel breathed a long sigh, running her hands along the prow railing with closed eyes. The dark wood was warm and comforting under her hands. 

It was good to be home.

Squirrel bowed her head a moment, giving a small cheerless smile. _Home_. _Now, there's a depressing thought_. She sighed. The sails rustled faintly overhead, the timbers creaked beneath her feet, the block-and-tackles clinked and rattled gently. This - the _Black Pearl_, and all the pieces of her - was merely a ship. But what made it home for Squirrel was something far more profound.

And a little closer to her heart.

A whisper on the wind made Squirrel lift her eyes to the horizon. There it was again. That familiar sound. The breath, the murmur. Squirrel's heart picked up a faster pace, but the only sign that betrayed her alertness was the way her fingers tightened on the railing. She scanned the horizon, once-bitten-twice-shy, looking for signs of the world's end. But there was nothing but sea and night sky in every direction. Despite this, the near-inaudible whisper continued, like the distant sound of waves on the shore. Her real name. It was out there, somewhere, just out of hearing range. Somewhere on the wind; somewhere out over the sea. Squirrel strained her ears, instinctively squinting and standing on tiptoes as she struggled to make out what distance obscured.

_Please_, she prayed silently, _Tell me! What's my name? I have to know!_ But the voices did not heed her. Squirrel sank back down on her heels, disappointed, but continued to listen. One of the whispers would reach her, eventually. She just knew it. The same way she knew the sun would rise in the morning, she _knew_ that she'd find her name in one of those distant breaths.

"No stars down 'ere in deh Lacka," Tia's voice made Squirrel jump, "No weey t' fin' our weey 'ome, but t'rough deh charts." She made her way to stand beside Squirrel, the only sound being the gentle swish of her tattered gown. Tia looked curiously at her. "What were you seekin', chil'?"

Squirrel shook her head and looked away, feeling somehow foolish before this woman. "Nothing," she murmured.

Tia looked at Squirrel with motherly eyes. "Not'in'? Somet'in' out dere," she made a small gesture to the open sea, "Calls your neeme, _oui_?" When Squirrel looked to Tia, startled, her lips framing the question, Tia nodded and turned to the darkness. "I t'ought as much." She leaned forward, pressing her hands on the railing, mirroring Squirrel's stance. "Deh sea 'olds many secrets, chil'. Your neeme be but one of dem."

Squirrel looked hard at Tia, feeling slightly cheated. "You told me I'd find it after a great pain," she murmured, her voice choking in her throat. "And that compass of yours pointed south-east." She looked at the old scars on the palm of her hand; she rested that hand against her chest, and felt the slow beat of her heart. Surely, she'd been hurt more than enough, and in more than one way. "How much further do I have to go?"

"A neeme cannot be foun' in one pleece, Miss Greeh," Tia said gently, closing her eyes as the wind played with her thick locks of hair.

Squirrel grit her teeth and looked away from the woman, out to the starless skies. "So, what? Has my name _moved_? Do I have to _chase_ it?"

"You foun' it," the woman murmured. "But it were lost to you before it were said."

Squirrel was silent a long moment, dumbfounded. "What?"

Tia turned her inky eyes to Squirrel. "Sout'east is but where you must go for deh neeme t' be said and 'eard. But deh one who would 'ave speak it is now gone. If you were t' teek deh compass now, and wish fer your name, it would poin' to deh one who knows - but knows not dat dey know - your neeme."

Squirrel stared out over the water, digesting this. Someone had known her name, but had never had the opportunity to say it? She thought instantly of Xin Fu, of the way his bloody, severed head had rolled along the ground, and trembled. Had he been the one? No. He wouldn't have known her name. And whoever knew her name wasn't southeast anymore. They were somewhere else. Somewhere, over the water. Calling to her.

Tia sighed heavily, a breath that almost choked with sadness. Squirrel glanced at the woman, and was surprised to see a tear rolling down the woman's tattooed cheek. "Tia?"

Tia shook her head, and the tear vanished. But the sadness didn't. "We sail 'cross deh pat's of deh dead," she murmured, voice pained. "But dis were not deh way it should 'ave been!"

"What do you mean?" Squirrel asked, concerned for the woman. Tia had never once been saddened like this before, never appeared to be burdened. Seeing her like this made Squirrel feel concerned; sisterly, almost. "What's wrong?"

Tia glanced at Squirrel, eyes full of pain. "What do you know about deh _Dutchman_, Miss Greeh?"

She knew she wasn't being tested. It was just a question. "It… it's a ghost ship, according to the stories, but its timber-and-canvas like any other vessel. I've seen it. It's crewed by men who are losing their humanity to a curse. Davy Jones is its captain, and he's likewise…" Somehow, though, Squirrel felt she wasn't answering Tia's question correctly. "And…" Squirrel looked out to the dark seas, as though it would provide her with the answer the woman was looking for. But she admitted defeat. "I… I don't know much, really. Only the stories."

"Deevy Jones…" Tia murmured the name, and it sounded like a caress. She sighed again, pained and weighed down by sorrow. "Deh _Dutchman_ were not a ghost ship, Miss Greeh. Not to start wit'. No. It belong to Deevy Jones, dat great see-lah. But den…" She smiled a moment, with tears building in her eyes. "Den it became somet'in' more. Wit' a far greater purpose." She turned and looked out over the water, and looked to be struggling with the words. "And den dat purpose were distorted."

"Purpose?" Squirrel followed Tia's gaze. She squinted, doubting her eyes. Below the surface of the water, strange phosphorescent shapes were drifting, like jellyfish. But as the _Pearl_ sailed onward, the shapes beneath the waves became more and more distinguishable. People. People drifting below the waves. All of them lying as though sleeping. And sleeping they were.

"Deh dead," Tia breathed softly, voice hoarse. "All of dose dat die at sea."

Squirrel watched silently, awed and reverential. There was no arguing or disputing what she was seeing; there was no doubting her very own eyes. There were crowds of them. Squirrel watched them pass, seeing men, women and children drifting with the tide. Those in uniforms and those in rags; those in fine gowns and those in tatters. All of those who had died at sea were equal under the waves. The _Pearl_ was, after all, sailing on the paths of the dead. She glanced at Tia, who had her hand to her mouth and was sobbing silently to herself. Somehow, Squirrel knew, Tia was more than just mourning these passing souls. Why else would she have mentioned the _Dutchman_?

"Tia? Tia, what's wrong?"

Tia calmed herself, though the sorrow and pain remained. She bowed her head and gripped the railing tightly, and took a deep shaky breath, a breath which came out in a heavy sigh.

"Dey are driftin''," she murmured, voice trembling. "Driftin', wit' no-one t' guide dem to dere final restin' place." She looked at the passing souls in pained concern. _More_ than concern; there was no word Squirrel could find to describe it. "Dey should be carried. Dey should not be left to dis, to wander alone. Dey need someone t' care for dem." She sighed again, barely holding back a sob.

Squirrel kept quiet. Tia was very personally affected by all this. It was no time to be interrupting with questions, or to be arguing theology. Especially not with the souls of the dead drifting past in the water below. Squirrel looked over the faintly glowing figures, quietly praying for them as each one passed. She could do little else.

A sudden image flashed across Squirrel's vision, causing her to gasp and flinch. A memory, course and sudden and almost cruel. A bloody sword, the blade buried deep into the ribs of a woman. Blood - dark blood - was spilling out down her gown. The woman's mouth was open in horror, surprise, pain, as were her brown eyes. Squirrel drew a breath as the memory faded away, feeling her blood run cold. The woman's face was Squirrel's own.

Tia glanced at Squirrel, sparing a smile that wasn't a smile. She seemed to know why Squirrel was pale and shaking. She rested her hand on Squirrel's for a moment, to comfort her. "Deh dead often keep deh secrets," she murmured, by way of reassurance. "But sometime dey do speak to dose they love."

"The dead?" Squirrel looked at Tia, then down again at the people in the water. "That was my mother, wasn't it? The woman I… I saw die. That was a memory. That was my mother."

"Yes," Tia said gently, looking back out over the water.

"But she didn't die at sea."

"But now you remember dat she die," the swamp woman's voice was low. "You remember now."

Squirrel swallowed a lump in her throat, close to tears. Yes, she'd forgotten. _But small wonder I don't remember them_, she thought. _If I'd seen them die like that, it would have too much. My mind blocked it out because it… it was too painful. Too painful for a girl that young to live with. Or anyone_. She glanced a moment at Tia, and thought silently, _You were right_. Squirrel looked out at the masses of silent floating forms, and felt the same kind of grief the woman beside her must be feeling. All these people had died. But who was mourning them? If they were lost and adrift, were they even remembered? Did they even have anyone to remember them, now that they were gone?

"There are so many of them," Squirrel stared about the water, pitying and mourning them.

"To travel deh seas is no easy t'ing." Tia's lips twisted bitterly, "An' now it be made much 'arder, for deh livin' and deh dead."

Squirrel shivered. "Beckett," she murmured, a heavy weight on her heart.

"Yes," Tia sighed heavily once again, eyes filling with tears. "And deh _Dutchman_ and 'er captain corrupting him purpose. So dese poor souls mus' fin' dere own way."

Two familiar voices came up from behind the two women: Pintel and Ragetti, giggling and chuckling in a way that portended mischief. Squirrel and Tia turned, looking severely over their shoulders at the two men. The two pirates had a cannonball each. Squirrel narrowed her eyes; they intended to use the dead as target practice?

Both men cringed under the two women's gazes, and let the cannonballs drop from their hands. The balls of metal thudded to the deck and rolled away.

"Be disrespectful, it would," Ragetti murmured, shamefully, averting his eyes from Squirrel.

But Tia's grief and anger wasn't done. "Dey should be in deh care of Deevy Jones!" She looked back to the sea, to the souls that drifted past. "Dat was the duty he was charged wit'… by the goddess, Calypso."

Calypso? Squirrel heard the name, and felt a cold chill. She looked carefully at Tia. The woman's grief was making her honest, it seemed. For all her riddling and mystery and half-truths, Squirrel could tell that Tia's words now were more than just a 'different version' of the tale. This was the truth of it, strange as it may seem. There was no deception here. Squirrel listened intently.

"He were to ferry dose who died at sea to deh ot'er side," Tia sighed, her voice cracking with grief. "And ev'ry ten years, him could come ashore… to be with she who _love_ him. Truly." Heartbroken broken anger crept into her tone. "But deh man has become a monster." Tia's dark fingers tightened on the railing.

Ragetti frowned slightly at this. "So, he wasn't always…" He wiggled his fingers at his chin, "Tentacle-y?"

"No." Tia smiled slightly, her voice fond as she looked out into the distance. "Him were a man. Once." She fingered the golden locket she wore. And there was love in her eyes. Squirrel followed Tia's gesture with her eyes, but did not say the words on her tongue. She remembered something, from long ago, but would not speak just yet. She glanced at Pintel and Ragetti, and watched as they came to the prow to look out across the darkness with the women.

"Now there's boats coming," Ragetti noted, as lights began to appear on the horizon. He and Pintel went down to the deck to watch them pass. But Squirrel remained where she was, watching Tia.

Back on the night Will had been betrayed, sent to the _Dutchman_ as payment for Jack's debt, Squirrel had heard some kind of bell-like ring when the names of Tia Dalma and Davy Jones were said together. She dismissed it as fancy at the time, as the by-product of her strange dream. But then, Squirrel had heard that tune, that lullaby from nowhere. Tia's music box contained that song. That music box which looked like both a heart, and a curled-up crab. That music box which Tia's fingers had brushed when she'd mentioned the captain's name.

"You were the woman," Squirrel murmured, "Weren't you, Tia? The woman that Davy Jones loved."

Tia looked at Squirrel, her face revealing nothing. Her silence was answer enough.

Squirrel returned Tia's even gaze, but showed the woman the respect that the tragic story afforded her. "You loved Davy Jones when he was a man," Squirrel said slowly, piecing together what she knew, staring at the distant black horizon line. "But he was in love with the sea. And when Calypso gave him the duty of ferrying souls to the other side, he was separated from you. The pain he couldn't bear to live with, but not enough to cause him to die… that was the pain from being apart from you. Ten years away from you, who he loved more than life. But by cutting out his heart, he earned the ire of Calypso, and she caused him to become… what he is today." Squirrel looked to Tia. "Am I right?" She asked it softly, not wishing to offend.

Tia's eyes remained inscrutable. "Same story, Miss Greeh," she murmured, "Different versions." She turned and walked away from the prow, heading for the deck.

Squirrel stood in silence a moment, watching the woman go. Then her lips twisted. _You could have just said 'no'_, she thought wryly. Then she too, joined the gathered crew, watching as the boats drifted past, coming to stand at Barbossa's left.

Gibbs was loading a rifle, but Will stopped him. "They're no threat to us," he assured Gibbs, then glanced to Tia. "Am I right?"

Tia nodded faintly, eyes still sad. "We are but ghosts to dem."

"Best just leave them be," Barbossa seconded, with uncommon softness.

The water was aglow with the forms of those who had died, and the boats that drifted past with their single lanterns were filled with silent, blank-faced people. Squirrel watched them all, feeling her heart ache. Some of them would have died at the hand of the tide; a natural enough death, considering. Those who plied the sea for a living faced countless risks: rips, sea creatures, hidden rocks and reefs, and even the sea itself, if those embraced by it couldn't swim. But there were too many men in sailors' or fishermen's garb here for them to have died at the hand of the sea unaided. And women and children as well? Beckett was ruthless. How many ships had been sunk at his command? How many more would be destroyed? How many more people had to die at that monster's command?

And how many among them had she known?

That thought was barely formed when Elizabeth came to the railing. She stood at Squirrel's left and looked out over the water, then gave a cry of joy. "My father! We made it back! Father! Look here!" Elizabeth looked around, laughing, relieved. "We made it back!"

Squirrel felt her heart drop, and her face go pale. She looked to the smiling lady, not knowing what to say. It had been a rumour, back before they'd reached the African coast. A sorrowful story told by a man seeking to impress the ladies and soothe their fears. The Governor was a puppet, and Beckett was pulling the strings, using Swann's power for his own benefit. Squirrel had reassured Elizabeth at the time that Governor Swann would only have agreed to such a horrible thing in order to save the daughter he loved. With that crocodilian smile and false friendship firmly in place, Squirrel had spoken logically, rationally, and given Elizabeth hope. But now… Now…

Elizabeth saw Squirrel's expression. Though Elizabeth kept her smile, she looked confused at Squirrel's reaction. Squirrel couldn't find the words to say. But someone else did.

"Elizabeth," Jack stood beside her, all seriousness for once, his voice soft and low, "We're not back."

Elizabeth looked to him, then back to the boat that was crossing the sea. Squirrel watched the woman's joy turning to horror. To grief beyond all imagining.

"Father!" Elizabeth shouted. Squirrel heard the woman's pain, and felt her own heart ache once more. But this time, with something akin to self-reproach.

An elderly man in a fine coat and a powdered wig looked away from the horizon, up the _Black Pearl_ in a unhurried manner. "Elizabeth?" He didn't seem surprised; he moved as though all this were nothing more than a dream. "Are you dead?"

Elizabeth shook her head frantically, mouthing the word 'no' but having no voice to speak it. She watched her father with unblinking eyes.

"I think I am," the man murmured.

Squirrel ducked her head, flinching at the man's simple statement. She saw in her mind's eye the pained, dying face of her mother. Another memory flashed by: a pistol shot, the smell of smoke, and a man thudded to the floor, his face half-gone. Squirrel choked on a breath, on a sob. Barbossa half-glanced at her, but he made to move.

"No!" Elizabeth exploded, tears filling her eyes. "No, you can't be!" She began to move down the railing, keeping pace with the boat as it sailed past. Squirrel watched them both, hearing her heart beat in her ears, and feeling burdened like she hadn't felt in a long time.

_You're the governor's daughter, and I have nothing…_

"There was this chest, you see," Governor Swann was saying. "At the time, it seemed so important."

Will reached out to his fiancée, trying to comfort, but both Barbossa and Squirrel were in the way and Elizabeth only had eyes for the man in the boat. "Come aboard!" She shouted. Elizabeth turned to the silent crew. "Someone - cast a line!" In her voice was the command of a child used to getting whatever she wanted. The voice of the governor's daughter. But panic and grief were turning her from a fine lady into a child all over again.

"And a heart," the governor continued. Squirrel froze, hearing the man's words like the ringing of a sepulchral bell. _The heart. The heart of Davy Jones_. "I learned that if you stab the heart, yours would have to take its place. The _Dutchman_ must have a captain." He almost shook his head, almost smiled in wry regret. "Silly thing to die for."

Squirrel caught her breath. He knew of the _Dutchman_? But that would mean Beckett had brought Swann with him. As a hostage. At least, until his usefulness had come to an end, and the governor started asking questions about things Beckett wished to keep for himself. The governor had been powerless, because he loved his daughter. Powerless to protect his daughter; powerless to protect himself. Squirrel bit her lip to keep from shaking.

"Throw a line!" Unable to wait any longer, Elizabeth snatched the line from Marty's hands and threw it. Her aim was true, but the governor made no move to catch the rope. "Come back with us!" Elizabeth pleaded, moving further astern. "Take the line!"

But the governor - her father - did not. He just looked up at Elizabeth and smiled as the rope slid from the boat. "I'm so proud of you."

"Father! No!"

"I'll give your love to your mother, shall I?" He looked back to the night, and said nothing more.

"NO!"

Squirrel put both hands over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, as the boat sailed on, past the _Pearl_. She closed her eyes; she heard Elizabeth's raging grief, heard Tia's fearful cry, heard and felt the crew rushing to Elizabeth's side. But Squirrel remained where she was. Too wracked with grief and guilt to cry, too touched by this not to. She leant against the railing because her knees were giving way, and she could not stand by her own power.

_Your father… Elizabeth… I was… I didn't… Your father…_

At the stern, Will pulled and held the screaming, sobbing Elizabeth into his arms, holding her, comforting her as best he could. The crew all gathered around them, heads bowed, eyes full of sorrow. But Squirrel remained at the port railing, shaking silently.

But she wasn't alone in staying where she was. Jack looked at Squirrel, his dark eyes showing nothing. But these were not the merry eyes of a fool or of one with an ace up his sleeve. These eyes were deep and thoughtful. There was no grief or remorse on his face. Momentary pity, perhaps, when he glanced towards Squirrel, and again when he glanced to the helm, to the sobbing, wretched Elizabeth. But other than that, nothing. He just pulled at his beard, saying nothing, revealing nothing; he stared out over the water, deep in thought.

The crew slowly dispersed, going to the sails and the lines with slow and heavy steps. Elizabeth sat heavily down on the steps by the helm, and stared out into space, tears rolling down her face. Will stayed with her a moment, murmuring, trying to keep his arms around her, but eventually he left her side. Elizabeth was deaf to comfort, even from the one she loved.

Jack's eyes flicked to Squirrel once more, asking a silent question. Squirrel couldn't look him in the eye. She looked instead to Elizabeth, to the young woman hunched over her knees in despair and grief. Taking a breath, and swallowing the remains of her pride, Squirrel moved past Jack. Every step was weighed down, as though there were ball-and-chain around both of Squirrel's ankles. Instinct told her to run, to hide, to turn away. But she had to do this. She couldn't leave this as it was. Not after what she'd done, after how selfish she'd been.

"Elizabeth?"

The woman didn't lift her head, only her eyes. From where Squirrel stood, it seemed the young woman was glaring at her. She swayed on her feet, almost turning back, almost turning away. But she moved forward, instead. The grief was plain on her face, the regret obvious. But she'd lied so often to Elizabeth; would she believed now?

"I…"

Elizabeth waited, eyes dark and golden face smeared with tears. Squirrel wrestled with her conscience, with the guilt and the grief. Boats still passed by the _Pearl_, taking their lanterns and passengers out to wherever they were headed; the dead continued to drift below the waves with the strange tide. Squirrel heard her selfish words on the wind, and hated herself for them.

_You're the governor's daughter. And I have nothing._

Squirrel's mouth worked the air a few moments more, before she finally managed to croak the only thing she could say. "I… I'm sorry." She bowed her head, stared at her feet, then looked at Elizabeth once more. "I'm sorry," she repeated, fighting with tears, crushed by the shame of what she'd said before.

Elizabeth looked at Squirrel steadily a moment longer, then bowed her head again. She gave no sign of acceptance, no sign of forgiveness. She was just wrapped up in her pain. Squirrel turned away and moved with hurried steps to the prow, her breath shaky and her movements unsteady. She didn't quite make it before her tears blurred her vision and started rolling down her face.

**

* * *

A/N**: I may be caught up for a few days with timetable issues as class goes back. But have no fear - I did a lot of note taking during the two-day layover. My usual update pattern should resume. Requests, suggestions and reviews always welcomed. 


	7. Up Is Down

**Disclaimer**: I hadn't finished disclaimer.

**A/N**: Enjoy :)

* * *

The mood of _Black Pearl_ stayed oppressive, long after the sun had risen. Everyone found something for themselves to do, kept themselves busy, tried to deal with the sorrow as best they knew how. 

All but Elizabeth, who had not moved the entire night, and still had not moved as the day came.

Squirrel glanced at the woman once again, turning her attention away from the ropes in her hands. She still felt guilty, despite her apology. Could she ever be forgiven? Her anger at the time had been warranted. Squirrel had wanted someone to blame, and thought herself justified. But she'd been wrong, wrong about what had happened, and her horrid, spiteful words could not be taken back.

And Elizabeth's father was long gone.

Squirrel looked back to the lines, giving them another needless tug. Needless, because there was no wind. It had died with the rising of the sun, as though the dead had taken it with them in passing. The _Pearl_ floated on the tideless sea, unmoving, undrifting, directionless and purposeless. And as the sun rose higher and higher, it beat down on the crew mercilessly. It was barely after dawn, but it felt like late noon. And a bastard of a noon, at that.

Squirrel left the ropes, and headed for the large barrel on the quarterdeck. She met Gibbs on the way; he reverse-nodded to her by way of a greeting, then wiped beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Squirrel reached the barrel first, and lifted the lid. She stared down into its content, dismayed, as Gibbs joined her.

"Aye," he murmured, providing an explanation to her unasked question, "We're in a bit of a fix."

"I'll say," Squirrel took the tin cup provided and leant down as far as she could into the barrel. The cup scraped the bottom, and gathered nothing more than a slight dampness. Squirrel sighed, then slid the lid back into place and set the cup down on it. "And this is the last barrel, too." _We're out of water already._

"I know, lass." Gibbs glanced around at the crew, who were pressed by the heat into exhausted laziness; he looked to the sails, then to the wide horizon, before looking with concern back to Squirrel. "And it don't look like we'll be reaching land or anything of the sort anytime soon. We're in dire straights…" He gave a strained sigh and tugged at his collar, "Even more so than before."

Squirrel smacked her lips, trying to work up some spit to quench her burning thirst. "Isn't there anything else aboard to drink?"

Gibbs glanced to the helm, where Barbossa stood looking out to sea, then pulled his hip-flask from his belt. He tapped his nose, glancing again at Barbossa. His eyes were wary, but kind: _let's keep this 'tween us, lass_. Squirrel smiled wryly at her friend, then accepted his offering. She'd not had the drink in a while - it was comforting, in a way. She'd missed the taste of rum, as destructive as it had been. Squirrel took but a sip, hissing slightly as it burned her throat on the way down, then handed the flask back to Gibbs.

The sky was white, as white as the sands of Davy Jones' Locker. They were trapped here, with no escaping. No escaping, at least, until the riddles were solved. Or night fell, dooming the ship and its crew to an eternity of wandering. Whichever came first.

"Over the edge, over again," Squirrel murmured, looking out over the scorching sky. "Sunrise sets, flash of green."

Gibbs seconded her mood with a heavy sigh. "Riddles," he muttered, swigging from his flask. "They're of no help to us."

"But they're all we have." She glanced to the table, where Will sat, straining and puzzling over the charts. Jack was sauntering back and forth nearby, pretending he wasn't looking over Will's shoulder, pretending he wasn't desperate to get his hands on the oilskin notes. It was clearly getting on Will's nerves, but he was trying not to show it.

"I've never been all that fond of riddles," Gibbs mused, half to himself, taking another swig at his flask before tucking it away. "Give me a tale or a story straight in the tellin'. Riddles are enough t' send a sane man mad." He glanced surreptitiously at Tia Dalma, and made a protective sign with his right hand as a precaution.

Across the deck, Jack halted mid-twirl, his head twitching to the left, his eyes glazing. As Squirrel watched, Jack's lips formed words. He even took to glaring slightly, first one way, then made pleading eyes the other. Will half-glanced over his shoulder, and Jack's strange tic stopped. The pirate smiled genially at Will; Will turned back to the charts, trying to concentrate.

Squirrel frowned slightly. "A sane man mad?" A thought was forming in her mind. Jack wasn't himself. His time in the Locker had changed him. He had always seemed mad before, but now… It was a long shot, but what choice did they have at this time? If riddles were enough to drive a sane man mad, would it take a madman to figure them out? It was worth the gamble, even if it was a fool's hope. Squirrel moved lightly across the deck, heading a-stern.

"Any luck?" She asked Will gently as she approached.

Will half glanced up from the charts, then shook his head. "No. These charts seem to lead anywhere but where we want to go. It was easier to get into the Locker than it is to get out of it." He set the charts down flat on the crate and folded his arms. "We're no closer to finding the way out now than we were before." Behind him, Jack was standing on his toes, weaving and stretching - even his face was stretching, his lips forming an 'o' - as he craned to peer at the charts. Judging from the look on Will's face, he knew exactly what Jack was doing, and it was wearing on his patience.

"Maybe a walk would clear your head," Squirrel said, moving to stand at Will's side. Jack weaved on the spot, a flicker of annoyance on his face as she blocked his view of the charts. "We're out of water, but the crew need something to drink. Get out of the heat, William, and take some rum to the crew." She motioned to the charts. "Let me try. Fresh eyes, and all that. You get some rest."

Will gave a heavy sigh and rose to his feet. "Alright." He put a hand on her shoulder a moment. "Good…" _Good luck_. He left the sentiment unfinished; he'd said it out of habit. What else did one say when wishing someone well? Squirrel smiled wryly at him; she didn't need luck. Will smiled back before heading across the deck and going below. Squirrel sat down on the seat, and put her elbows on the table, staring at the charts.

She smelt Jack's breath before she felt him come up beside her. He was peering over her shoulder, a little closer than he'd been when Will was the one reading the charts. She looked out of the corner of her eye, and saw his face contorting in curious ways as he struggled to read what was written. Squirrel twirled the circles on the charts until the lines from the riddle appeared.

"Sunrise sets, flash of green," she murmured, as though to herself. She twirled the next circle, found the next line. "Over the edge, over again." She sighed heavily, and rested her chin in her hands. "Ridiculous," she muttered, and she wasn't completely acting when she breathed that one word.

"Doesn't have to be," Jack said softly.

Squirrel looked over her shoulder at him, and tried not to flinch backwards when she found herself face-to-face with him. "What?"

"What?" Jack looked genuinely perplexed. He glanced to his left, and muttered something scathing, then glanced back to Squirrel with a winning smile. "Sorry, luv, you were saying?"

Squirrel sighed, then looked back to the charts. _Well, if seeing hallucinations wasn't proof enough, he's talking to himself. Sure signs of a madman. Not that he wasn't mad enough already, but still_. She pointed to the phrases. "These. The riddles. They're… they're crazy."

"Crazy is as crazy does," Jack said laconically, shuffling a little closer. Squirrel pursed her lips, but didn't say a word. Jack frowned thoughtfully at the charts. "How do these work, anyway?"

"We don't know," Squirrel admitted. "They just do, somehow. They got us here, but…" She sighed, then admitted, "But we can't find the way out."

"Oh, well, then _that's_ helpful," Jack said sarcastically. He made a motion with limp hands, and Squirrel shuffled over on the bench. Jack sat beside her, and leant forward over the charts. His shoulder rubbed against hers. Squirrel shuffled a few inches to the left, moving slightly away from him. The touch of his skin… too familiar, too warming. She needed to think. She needed to be able to breathe. But still… she leant back towards Jack, and watched him closely. There was a concentration in his eyes, an almost feverish determination. He twirled a few of the circles at random. Squirrel bit her lip, scarcely daring to hope. Would this work? Would Jack be able to find the way out where saner minds had failed?

"So," Jack said, sitting back and pulling at his beard, "This led you to the Locker, and it's supposed to show you the way out, too?" One of his hands dropped down to drum a staccato rhythm on his knee. His fingers tapped hers as well. He didn't seem to realise.

Squirrel leant back, feigning nonchalance, trying not to redden. "Apparently."

Jack made a thoughtful noise, then leant forward to twirl a few more circles. "Tricky." He stared at the charts, eyes narrowed and mouth a grim line.

As she watched him concentrate, Squirrel found herself almost smiling. This was a side of Jack she'd rarely seen. Even with her time on the _Pearl_ - before this whole mess - Jack was never like this. He was always happy-go-lucky, weaving and swaying and grinning and practically _dancing_ his way through life. Even in the midst of the hurricane off Tripoli, he was laughing at the helm, calling taunts over his shoulder at the ragged fleet. To see Jack like this, concentrating, unsmilingly driven… It was a side of him Squirrel had never seen before. It was different, but not unattractive. Squirrel forced herself to watch Jack's fingers instead. The longer she stared at his face, the more she wanted to kiss him.

And the more she was afraid of what would happen if she did.

Continents and islands shifted and morphed, blurring under her eyes and Jack's swift, nimble fingers. Names and symbols found their place and were misplaced in the same moment. One instant, Squirrel saw Cape Horn and the west coast of Africa; another moment showed the Mediterranean; another still was a close-up of the marshy coast of Singapore. These charts may not have been as accurate as modern charts, but they could lead anywhere.

But would it lead them out of the Locker in time?

"You can't go 'over again' unless you've been over the edge," Jack muttered, his voice so low it sent shivers up Squirrel's spine. "Over the edge? What edge?"

"World's end," Squirrel supplied. "We sailed off the edge of the map to get here." She sighed, leant a little closer to him, felt the warmth of his skin over the burning heat of the sun. "Literally."

Jack didn't seem to have heard her. He didn't even seem to register her presence anymore. He continued to twist the circles, staring at the map, silently demanding it give him the answers he wanted. Slowly, gradually, Squirrel edged away from him. She stood up, backing away; Jack didn't notice. All he saw were the charts, and the puzzle it presented. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered.

Squirrel stood where she was, a few feet from Jack, and watched him silently. She'd leave the charts in his hands, and pray for the best. It was a long shot, but Jack had more of a chance to find the answers in the charts than anyone else aboard.

The heat continued to swell. Squirrel pushed her cloak back from her face, wiping the sweat from her brow, then turned and went to look for some shade.

* * *

The day rolled on, and Squirrel was feeling less and less certain of her idea with every passing hour. The crew lay about the decks, faces covered, from the glare of the sun. The air smelled of sweat and despair. Squirrel leant against the railing, her head hanging over the edge of the ship, panting. The rum - like the water - was long gone. There'd been nothing to drink for hours. There was no sea breeze whatsoever. Just the maddening heat - the same heat which must have tormented Jack when he was locked up. 

Squirrel watched the sea sway below her, framed by her hanging-down hair. The phrases from the charts were being chanted in her head by some strange chorus. The words themselves had ceased to make sense long after noon. Now they were just noises. Loud, nonsense noises. Noises that reminded Squirrel how hot and thirsty and desperate she was.

She looked up, squinting in the reddening light. The sun was finally reaching the horizon. Squirrel gave a small groan, relieved. With the setting of the sun would come the night. With night, would come cool air. And dew. Dew, which was water. Water, which she could drink. Ah, but that was an impossible chance. The Locker was not an accommodating place. Night was bringing a new kind of torment. A prison from which there would be no escape. Ever.

"Sunset's nearly here," Will's voice rasped from beside her.

"About bloody time," Squirrel groaned, pushing herself upright. She turned and threw herself down, leaning back against the railing; she rested her arms on her knees, and her chin on her arms. Then with a sigh, she added, "But not good." Her head lolled.

Tia Dalma's eyes were like a cat's as she stared out into the setting sun. "If we cannot escape dese doll-drums before night, I fear we sail on trackless seas, doomed to roam deh reach between worlds… forever."

"And with no water," Gibbs, too, looked into the setting sun, "Forever looks to be arriving a mite too soon."

"As I said," Squirrel shut her eyes, "Not good." She heaved a heavy sigh and smacked her lips again. Her tongue felt like boiled leather.

Will turned on his heel. "Why doesn't he do something?"

Squirrel opened one eye and looked up at him. "What? Who?"

"Barbossa. Why doesn't he help us?"

Squirrel opened her other eye and looked over to the helm. Barbossa stood where he'd been standing all day. She found it odd - now that she thought about it - that the man dressed in black had seemed to be least affected by the heat. Either that, or he had a heavier burden to bear.

Squirrel struggled to her feet, one arm wrapped around a line for support. Her legs were wobbly. "Maybe he can't?" It wasn't an unlikely suggestion. After all, the man hadn't moved in hours.

Will looked to Squirrel. "You don't look so well. Maybe you should sit down."

She shook her head stubbornly, then staggered past Will to reach Tia. "You're good at riddles. Why don't you help us?"

"I ken't," the woman said simply. Squirrel was too exhausted to start a fight, or even to wonder why. She just slumped back against the railing and half-closed her eyes, leaning on one of the lines for support.

"Over the edge, over again," Will took to pacing back and forth, from port to stern. Squirrel watched him until she felt dizzy, which didn't take long. "Sunrise sets, flash of green." He'd accepted Squirrel's reasons for leaving the charts with Jack, but he still chafed at the nonsensical riddles.

Gibbs walked with Will. "There's no sense to it. Sunrises don't set."

Will grit his teeth, increasingly frustrated. "And the flash of green happens at sunset, not sunrise."

"The world's not flat, either," Squirrel murmured, head lolling. "Over the edge…" Neither Gibbs nor Will heard her. But Gibbs' next words made Squirrel lift her head a moment, and think that he did.

"'Over the edge'… it's driving _me_ bloody well over the bloomin' edge."

Their very lives hung on these riddles. They had to solve them. They were running out of time. Squirrel groaned and pushed herself upright, then staggered across to the mast. She didn't have a lot of strength to spare, but she thought best when she was moving. She had to keep moving, keep walking, keep thinking_. A sunrise setting? Makes no sense whatsoever. The flash of green should be… Damn, it's so hot! _Squirrel knocked her head against the mast a few times, trying to clear her thoughts. It just made her dizzy. She gave up, and leant against the mast instead, fighting with despair.

Her eye chanced on Jack. He was still sitting where he had been hours ago. The only part of him that had moved was his arms and hands. Now one hand was tapping the charts; the other supported his head. He looked just as lost as anyone else. _So much for making a mad man sane_, Squirrel thought, as she slid to the deck, and rested her head on her knees. _We're going to die out here. We're going to die, and live forever_. _…No. Don't think about that. The edge. That means the edge of the world, right? So we went over… do we have to go over again? But how? There's no wind! We can't go anywhere! And where, exactly, would the 'edge' be? Oh, I'm thirsty!_

Across the deck, by the helm, Jack was talking to himself, looking left and right, his eyes flickering. He was talking to himself. He was smiling to himself.

"Urgh." Squirrel dropped her head again, and her hood fell over her face. _We're all going to die and he can find something to smile about? That's that captain, alright. My Captain Jack Sparrow_. She sighed, then the magnitude of her thought hit her. "My Captain?" She murmured, incredulous. "What?" With a self-disparaging groan, she tilted her head back, thudding it restlessly a few times against the mast. It didn't jolt the thought loose, but it did provide her eyes with something new to see. Straight up. The sky was clear and cloudless, and was slowly turning red.

_Sunset. We don't have time._ Squirrel closed her eyes and sighed, then looked to Jack again. _And we don't have the answers either_.

Suddenly Jack rose to his feet, shouted something, and leapt towards the starboard side.

Squirrel was on her feet before she knew it, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Had it worked? Had Jack found the way out? She went to the starboard side and stared out over the water, trying to see what he'd found. She didn't see anything. Confused, she looked up the railing towards Jack.

But he was already gone, running to the port side. "What is that? I don't know, what do you think?"

Squirrel hung back, utterly confounded. _Jack, what are you doing?_ The sun was already kissing the western horizon, and would soon slip away into darkness. _Why are you acting like a fool? This isn't the time!_

"Yibiloo!" He ran back to the starboard side.

_Wait_, the thought cleared the frown from her face, _Is he __really__ acting the fool? Or is he merely doing what he's done countless times before?_ Jack ran to the port side once again; several of the crew members were joining him. Squirrel looked thoughtfully at him, and shook her head with a smile as she realised that - once again - she couldn't read him. _Well done. But what __is__ it you've found, Jack?_ She mused over the riddle a moment, wondering, trying to understand him.

_Over the edge, over again_.

Squirrel caught her breath as realisation dawned. Over again? Was it really that simple? It couldn't be. She turned her eyes towards the stern, where Jack had left the charts. Barbossa was fussing over Ragetti, putting the man's wooden eye back into place. Squirrel moved towards them, and peered at the charts. For a moment, she didn't see anything that would have prompted Jack's reaction; nothing seemed to reinforce what she'd thought she'd learned. Then she noticed a small banner of letters she hadn't seen before.

"'Up is down'?" She gaped, incredulous, and laughed. "Up is down! Over again! He did it!"

Barbossa looked at her, then leant on both hands to look over the charts. His eyes widened, seeing the same thing she did, and he gave her a wide grin. "Aye, he's got it." He tapped the centre image - the Asian vessel. It was inverse - it was turned upside-down. Squirrel grinned back, and buried her face in one hand. Now the riddle made sense. Now that they had all the pieces of the puzzle, it made sense.

Perfect sense.

"Over again," Squirrel watched as Jack continued to run back and forth with the rest of the crew. "Up is down; over again." She laughed in incredulous wonder, then choked back her laughter as the ship started to lean precariously, first one way then the other. Back and forth, see-sawing. She staggered to remain upright.

"We're rockin' the ship!" Gibbs called, grinning at her.

"We have to flip it right over?" Squirrel frowned slightly, and looked to Barbossa for support. The man just grinned at her, then raised his voice to the crew.

"Time it with the swell!" He shouted, as he swung himself down the stairs to head below. Squirrel gathered up the charts in her arms and hurried after him, leaping down into the darkness of the hold. The whole ship bucked back and forth, and it was hard to keep her feet. She staggered, reeling, back and forth, not even wanting to move - it was a trial just to stand still.

"On your feet, ye unwashed swine," Barbossa grabbed an axe from the wall and swung it at the rope that bound a pile of barrels. "Unbind those cannons! Cut the cargo free, let it shift!" The crew below struggled to carry out the man's order.

Squirrel swayed on, rolling the charts as she moved, intending to do the same, but Barbossa grabbed her arm. "Where are ye off to, angel?"

"Lower cargo holds," Squirrel said, as the ship all but threw her into the man's arms. She flushed and braced her legs on the deck a little more firmly as the ship rocked back the other way. "There's more down there."

Barbossa nodded to the loosed cannons and cargo already unbound that rolled and crashed against the walls behind her. "Bit dangerous t' be goin' below. I think ye'd best stay up top." He plucked the charts from her, tucked them in one of the cannon's mouths, then grabbed her by the hand and hauled her to the stairs. He was barely to keep his balance as well.

The ship was almost tipping now. All the crew above deck were involved in this strange endeavour. Even Tia Dalma was lifting her skirts to keep up with the rest of the crew. _Well, here we are, in Davy Jones' Locker, past the ends of the world, and we're trying to tip our ship over by running back and forth. And oddly enough, it's working!_ Squirrel laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Over again!" she cried, as she and Barbossa joined in. Somehow, in all the confusion, she found herself running with Jack. He grinned golden at her; she grinned back.

"Well done, Captain!"

Jack raised an eyebrow at her, blasé and innocuous as a child. As though he weren't the ringleader in this bizarre circus. "What? Did I do something right this time?"

The ship leaned portside - Squirrel heard the barrels and cannons below decks crashing and rolling under her feet as she ran up the deck to the starboard. It was like climbing a hill now. With every sway, the _Pearl_ leaned further and further sideways. Seawater washed in when the scuppers brushed the waves; barrels and other miscellany not tied down were thrown to the deep. One of the crewmen was vaulted off when the ship snapped sharply from starboard to port, barely having time to scream. But there was no stopping to find him. There was no time. The sun was already half gone.

The cannons on deck broke free, shifting about with the motion like their brothers below decks. The crew ran, ran, and leapt, clinging to the port railing. The _Pearl_ leaned heavily, listing, the foreyards just touching the water. For a moment, Squirrel thought it would be enough to tip the _Pearl_ over, but it wasn't.

"Once more!" Barbossa shouted, and Squirrel let go of the railing, climbing hurriedly to the starboard side before the ship tipped once again. One of the men lost his grip and fell back, to be caught by the ratlines. But he wasn't safe for long; one of the cannons fell heavily, crushing him.

Squirrel heard his bones break, and winced. _Rest in peace,_ peng you_, rest in peace_,1 she thought, the only thought she could spare for him. The _Pearl_ wasn't quite over the edge yet. They ran to port once more, waited for the ship to tilt, then back to starboard. It was harder this time to reach the railing. Squirrel barely managed to grab onto it in time.

"And now," Jack said, an obvious observation with a matter-of-fact tone, "Up is down."

Squirrel gave a small squeal as she felt the Pearl tip, leaving her body hanging in the air. She gripped the railing as tight as she could, trying to hold on. The _Black Pearl_ wasn't just shifting this time. She was rolling. And she'd roll right over.

"Don't worry, luv," Jack smiled at her, "It'll all turn out alright in the end."

Squirrel felt a sudden stab of déjà vu, and looked at Jack with some alarm. "What? _What_ did you say?"

Jack looked down to his feet, and winced apologetically. "I think I'll save me breath, luv."

Squirrel looked down too, and nearly screamed as the ship rolled right over and took them all with it. She quickly gasped a lungful of air as the cold water crashed over her. Squirrel fought with the compulsion to kick and cough and swim for the surface. She had to hold on, had to wait for the sun to set. For the green flash. So, she stayed where she was. Hanging… down… up? Towards the water? Away from the sky? Staring down to the depths while the sun shone above her head, but it was actually below her?

_This was my dream_, Squirrel looked about with wide eyes. _My dream! Bu ke neng!_2 _It was just a dream, but…_ She looked to Jack. _He said that, and then he was walking under the water, as though it were the ground, and the water was the sky… _Squirrel looked all about herself. _It was just a dream, though! The walking on water, the up being down, and what he said… it was just part of my dream! How could this have happened, if it was just a dream?_

_O, day and night_, Horatio voiced her thoughts, _But this is wondrous strange!_

_And therefore stranger gives it welcome. _Hamlet smiled distantly, with pragmatically folded arms. _There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_.

_But this makes no sense_, Squirrel thought, as she stared at her boots_. When people float, they move __towards__ the surface, not __away__ from it._ She watched the cannons falling, and found some comfort in that normality. But then Will caught her eye - he had slipped, and was falling down… or up. The same direction as the cannons. He managed to catch one of the ropes, and was hauling himself up - or down - towards the ship. _Where are we_, Squirrel thought, half-panicked, _And what happened to the natural laws of the world?_ She shook her head in disbelief. A bubble of air escaped her lips, and headed up - or down, or up and down - towards the surface of the ocean. Squirrel watched it with some consternation. And then she looked back about her, to her friends and crewmates.

They didn't seem to know what to make of any of this either. They were looking about, just as incredulous as she was. No-one quite knew what to make of this. No-one, of course, but Jack. Jack, who merely looked content to wait it out and see what happened next. Jack, who was as calm and as unruffled as a flag in no wind.

_If I didn't need to hold my breath so badly_, Squirrel frowned good-naturedly, _I might just start screaming at you, just to get you to react_. Her lungs were beginning to ache. She looked down below, at the depths_. I wonder if the Dutchman waits there, _she thought absently._ It was in my dream_. The thought wasn't encouraging.

Suddenly, something changed in the darkness. For a moment, Squirrel swore she saw sunlight. Below them. She looked up, and saw the sun setting above her. But at the same time, the grey light of dawn was filtering through the water below. _What on earth…?_

The surface of the water rose up from below, thundering towards them and the ship. Squirrel stared, paralysed by fear and confusion, then felt the force of the water as it crashed around her. It loosed her hands from the railing and swept her about. She cried out, and heard her voice on the air before her mouth filled with water and foam. She coughed and spluttered, unable to find her footing. The sea buffeted her about, throwing and catching her like a crowd of hands. She felt someone near her, and snatched at them, seeking a lifeline, anything, to hold onto. Their hand clung back; she tightened her grip on their forearm, and they tightened their grip on hers.

And then, as soon as it had begun, it ended.

The water dropped her to the deck with a thud, and she felt whoever she'd grabbed land heavily on top of her, chest to chest. With sea-blurred eyes and a bright red face, she couldn't discern who it was. It took a moment to clear her eyes - and catch her breath again - before she could see clearly, breathe easily. She nearly choked when she saw who it was lying on top of her, his body crushing to hers against the gently-swaying deck.

Jack.

He sat up and pushed himself off her slightly, and shook the water from his hair and eyes. He paused a moment, taking stock of where he was, and looked down at Squirrel. His eyes widened slightly, but his lips pulled into a smile. Squirrel pushed him off her the rest of the way and hauled herself to her feet, dying with embarrassment.

And feeling her heart thunder and her skin burn in a way she found she couldn't disagree with.

"Sweet blessed westerlies," Gibbs looked about, gaping, "We're back."

Squirrel looked around, feeling the wind on her skin and smelling the scents on the salty air. "We're back in the Caribbean," she stared, awed. She looked to Jack again, and smiled at him. _You did it_. He winked back at her; Squirrel huffed and looked away, trying to reclaim some manner of dignity. Trying not to think of herself and Jack lying together…

"It's the sunrise," Elizabeth noted faintly. True enough, the red orb of fire on the horizon was slowly lifting up from the sea. The crew all admired it for a moment, breathing the clear air and watching as the day slowly brightened. Squirrel pushed her cloak back from her shoulders and the hood from her face, glad to feel the familiar sun and the wind on her skin.

They were free. Free from Davy Jones' Locker. All was well, at last.

Squirrel's arm snapped like a whip to the sash at her chest. With her right fist full of throwing daggers, she braced her feet, ready to throw. But she wasn't the only one on guard. Elizabeth, Will, Barbossa and Jack had all - in lightning fast movements - drawn two pistols each, and were pointing them at each other. A standoff. Gibbs and a few others hurried to draw their guns, by way of compensation, but they hadn't been nearly fast enough. Squirrel's free hand moved to her dagger, just in case.

Barbossa's eyes flicked to her a moment, and he gave a grim smile in acknowledgment. Will looked at her out of the corner of his eye, as did Elizabeth. Jack didn't move; he didn't know. She was standing right behind him. He didn't see her. He didn't see her blades.

Squirrel narrowed her eyes, adjusted her aim, and waited for the right chance to strike.

* * *

1 - Friend

2 - Impossible!

**A/N**: Dun dun!


	8. It's All In Play

**Disclaimer**: Disclaimer men tell no tales.

**A/N**: _WARNING_. A lot of stuff ahead. Uber-long chapter, and many uber-important things to note. Lots of loose ends and old friends (hey, that rhymes!). Enjoy :D I think the sub-chapters should all have their own names. I'm going to go with 'Knives', 'Wine', 'Sun and Moon' and 'Help'. It'll make sense afterwards.

* * *

There were two pistols on them each. Elizabeth, Will, Barbossa and Jack all faced death from two sides. In addition, at any time any of the duellists might change their aim, and with it, their allegiances. And visa versa. Some of the other crewmen had their pistols out as well, aiming at random, unsure what the hell was going on. 

Squirrel, with blades balanced between her fingers, faced no such uncertainty. She knew exactly where her blades were going to fly.

No-one moved. They merely stared each other down, waiting for one of the others to make the first move.

It was Barbossa who moved first. Without taking his eyes from the others, he started to laugh. In a moment all the others joined in: Will uncertainly, warily, Jack carelessly, and Elizabeth somewhat apologetically, as though this whole thing were nothing more than a foolish farce. The pistols were lowered as the laughter continued; a shared laughter, 'oh what fools we are'.

Then the tension returned and the laughter died as suddenly as it had begun.

"Alright then," Barbossa's pistols flew back into the air, as did all the others. The focus of Barbossa's icy glare turned to Jack. "The Brethren Court is a-gatherin' at Shipwreck Cove. Jack, you and I be going there, and there's no arguin' that point."

"I is arguing that point." Jack said, offhandedly, prompting an incredulous look from Barbossa. "If there's pirates gathering, I'm pointing my ship the other way."

"The pirates are gathering to fight Beckett." Elizabeth pointed both her pistols at Jack, and he did the same; Squirrel half-swivelled and re-aimed, then reconsidered quickly. "You're a pirate."

Will did the same as his fiancée, and Jack returned his second pistol to its original target. "Fight or not, you're not running."

"Because," Squirrel added, "You owe us, Jack. We got you out of the Locker. We brought you back from the dead."

Jack twirled around, both pistols aiming for her. Squirrel - caught off-guard - bared her teeth and pulled her arm back; Jack looked surprised, first at Squirrel, then at his two pistols, as though incredulous that they were pointing in her direction. Elizabeth looked to Squirrel in confusion; Barbossa with a smug smirk; Will with a blank, unreadable face. Jack considered Squirrel's knives for a minute, then evidently found a greater threat in the pistols behind him. He turned his back on her.

"Luv, while I am incredibly grateful for what you lot have done," he told her over his shoulder, "You can't force me to do nothing."

"You _owe_ us!" Squirrel barked, temper flaring. Jack didn't even flinch.

Barbossa stepped forward into the square, his pistol pointing to Jack. Behind him, Gibbs aimed at Barbossa; Barbossa slipped his second pistol under his arm, aimed behind him. "If we don't stand together, they'll hunt us down, one by one, 'til there's none left…" He gestured with his gun, and smiled patronisingly, "…but you."

Jack shrugged. With his left pistol pointing at Elizabeth and his right at Will, he looked like he was welcoming is fate with open arms. "That's fine with me. Captain Jack Sparrow, the last pirate…"

Barbossa scowled. "And then ye'll be fightin' Jones alone. And how does that figure into your plans?"

"I'm still working on it," Jack said flatly. He turned one of his pistols, placing it inches from Barbossa's nose. "But I will not be goin' back to the Locker, mate." His voice was as hard as flint. "You can count on that."

Squirrel had been watching this play out like a game of poker. She'd known enough about the players to know who would fire first: whoever stood to lose the most. But to see Jack fire point-blank range in Barbossa's face was a surprise in itself. She hadn't thought he had the courage.

The other pistols fired quickly, one after the other, in rapid succession, as each of those still standing tried to end the ones they hated most. More than one pistol, Squirrel noted distantly, was fired in one particular direction. But it didn't work. Not one shot met its mark, not one gunshot was heard. Every single one of the pistols failed.

"Wet powder," Gibbs explained, lowering his useless weapons.

Squirrel hesitated, her arm still raised to throw. _Her_ weapons weren't ruined by the seawater. Barbossa, Will, Elizabeth all glanced at her, waiting for her to throw. But she couldn't. She was outnumbered, and there was no doubt that people would rather leap to stop her, rather than rally to her aid. The moment was past. She'd have to find some other way, some other time. With a scowl, she lowered her hand, and tucked the blades back in the sash, one by one. Elizabeth looked relieved; Barbossa scowled in disappointment; Will revealed nothing. And Jack?

He glanced back, saw the sour look on her face, and smirked to himself.

"So," Will put his hands - still holding his pistols - on his hips and looked around. "For the time being, we're in this together."

"Aye, seems that way," Barbossa lowered his guns. Elizabeth nodded in agreement, eyes only for Will. Jack muttered something and shoved his pistols in his sash.

"Well, right now we need to take stock of the Pearl, and get water." As he tucked his pistols away, Will glanced to Squirrel. "How long do you think that will take, Miss Grey?"

She returned the stiff formality. "I don't know, Mister Turner. A day, maybe. I'd have to find out exactly what it is we lost."

"I know we lost a few cannon," Gibbs offered.

Squirrel nodded, adding, "And we need some repairs, as well."

Will's eyes were intense, for some reason. "If I had the charts, I could find an island where we could resupply."

She nodded again. "I'll go get them."

"Wait!" Pintel shouted, as the standoff broke up, with the crew going to their stations, "We can still use 'em as clubs!" He seemed genuinely disappointed that the fighting spirit had gone out of everyone.

"Right," Jack said, swaying on his feet. "Well, if anyone needs me, I'll be in me cabin."

Barbossa's eyes burned. "My cabin, ye mean."

"No, it's mine."

"I beg to differ, Jack."

"I differ on account of your differing, Hector."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned to leave. Will followed after her a few steps, then sighed, turned, and went to the prow, to stand alone and look out over the water. Barbossa scowled at Jack a moment longer, then the two of them walked together, jostling each other and glaring as they went, with long, hurried strides towards the helm. Barbossa's path took him up the stairs, while Jack turned away to go into the cabin. Squirrel caught a glimpse of overturned furniture and broken glass before Jack shut the door behind him. There would be enough in there to keep him busy for a while. Squirrel looked around the ship, glancing to Barbossa, Elizabeth and Will in turn.

_The game's not over yet_, she thought darkly. _The four points of the compass - no, five - will be back in place again sometime soon_. Her eyes lingered on Will a moment, and she wondered silently at the way he held himself. He was standing strangely; a little too stiffly, even for him. _He's hiding something_. Squirrel fought to hide a smirk as realisation dawned. _Ah, yes. Our deal with Sao Feng. He's hiding it from the others_.

The terms of that deal came back starkly to Squirrel, as though written with the blackest of inks. _Bring me Jack Sparrow. Alive_. Squirrel clenched her fist as she turned to go. It hadn't been easy to agree to Sao Feng's terms. But it was harder still to even consider honouring them now. _How can I?_ She thought, furious at herself, _How can I betray him now?_ She remembered the way it had felt to be lying under him, the warmth of his skin and the way she herself had warmed, and reddened slightly. He was what she wanted. What she'd dreamt of all her life.

He _was_; he _had_ been, before. But now?

She ran her hand through her hair, sighed heavily, then turned and went below.

The hold was a mess, but she found what she was looking for easily enough. The charts were right where Barbossa had hidden them; if that cannon had been lost, it would have been disastrous. Squirrel pulled them out, carefully, and balanced them in her arms. It seemed so strange that their trip had depended on something made from nothing more oilskin and bamboo. _Something so powerful is also so fragile_, she thought faintly. _But we all have our flaws, one way or another_.

She turned to head back for the stairs, and nearly screeched in alarm when she found someone standing right behind her. "Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?"

Tia's lips pursed in the shadows. "It won't be fear dat stop your 'eart, Miss Greeh. Somet'in' more pow'rful 'as designs on you." She turned and moved lightly through the detritus of the hold, almost vanishing in the darkness. She picked a lantern off the ground and hung it back on the nail from the pillar.

Squirrel shook her head disparagingly, tired of the woman's riddles, then turned to go. But at the last moment she hesitated. "Tia, wait."

The woman stopped and looked back. "Yees, Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel tucked the charts under one arm and fumbled with her sash. "Here." She held out the bottle. "Will this do?"

Tia came back over, the smile gone from her face. Her eyes were locked on the bottle, emotionless and unreadable. "What is dis, gherl? Your debt to me?"

"You said fill it with something rarer. I don't know what could be possibly rarer than _shou_, but I'm sure this comes close."

Tia looked at Squirrel with an almost-suspicious tilt of the head. "And what would dat be?"

Squirrel smiled grimly, and half shrugged, resting the charts against her shoulder like a bayonet. "How many people can say they've escaped from Davy Jones' Locker? So what on earth could be rarer than sands from inside that cage?" She placed the bottle in Tia's smooth dark hands.

Tia accepted the offering, unsmiling and eyes dark. She cradled the tiny glass bottle, turning it gently until the Chinese symbol looked up at her, like an eye. Squirrel waited for the woman's reaction, but Tia said nothing. She didn't even lift her eyes. She just stared, silently, and rubbed her fingers over the coldness of the glass. Her eyes were distant, as though she were losing herself in thought. Or a memory.

Uneasy, Squirrel frowned. "Well? Is our debt settled?"

Tia didn't react for a moment. Her hands closed, anemone-like, over the bottle, and she cupped it to her breast. A look of pain crossed her face a moment; she closed her eyes, reliving something painful, something beautiful and sad. Then she looked up, and her lips parted in a wide, all-knowing smile, as mischievous as any child. "Yees, Miss Greeh. Oor debt is settled. Sand from Davy Jones' Locker. Clever. You done weel." She smiled inkily, tucked the bottle into one of the many folds of her gown, then turned and walked away.

"Wait." Squirrel's hand snaked out, and she grabbed Tia's forearm. "That's it?"

"Of course." Tia raised a lazy eyebrow. "Why? What were you expectin'?"

Squirrel grit her teeth. "You could at least tell me what was in that damned thing in the first place." She let Tia's arm go. "What was it," she asked, "That was in that bottle?"

"Chinese rice wine." Tia's grin widened slightly.

Squirrel stood a moment in silence. "What," she said finally, more a statement than a question. Then, in incredulous anger she raised her voice, making the word a disbelieving, "_What_?"

Tia smiled again. "Somet'ing deh matter, Miss Greeh?"

Squirrel fought to speak, fought to express just how incredibly confused she felt. "Chinese. Rice. Wine? That's _it_?"

"_Oui_." The woman's smile was maddening.

"That's not possible," Squirrel spluttered. But it made perfect sense. She'd reeled, hadn't she, after drinking it? Her head had spun, her stomach and mind both rebelled against her. She hadn't been able to stand; she hadn't been able to even control her dreams. It had been like a poison - but the rum had had a similar effect. The taste, the effects… it all pointed to the _shou_ being nothing more than potent alcohol. Squirrel shook her head, blinking and frowning, trying to come to terms with this revelation. "But you… You said it was rare…"

"P'raps I place a higher value on t'ings of mine taken wit'out permission?" Tia folded her arms and smirked. "After all, Miss Greeh, I did offer you 'ospitality an' 'ealin', bot', and in return you take what belong to me. You steal from me." She clucked her tongue. "But den, you always 'ave a strange way of thankin' ot'ers, Miss Greeh. And not once 'ave you ever thanked me."

"… Rice wine?"

"Oh, come chil'," Tia waved a hand dismissively, "What are done be done. Dere is no need to be regrettin' what are past fer you."

Squirrel found and clung to a single thought, a single rebuttal to Tia's words. "But I speak Chinese now! That…" She went to point to the bottle, but it was obscured somewhere in Tia's gown. Squirrel pointed to where she thought she saw it vanish to, instead. "That could NOT have _just_ been rice wine! I couldn't speak Chinese before, but now I can! So it can't have been."

Tia tossed her head, and smoothed back her hair with one hand. "Is dat so, gherl?" There was a glint to her eye which made Squirrel's triumphant hand lower, made her confidence falter. Tia laughed faintly. "Well, den, deh bottle didn't 'old rice wine at awl. My mis-take." She smiled placidly.

Squirrel leant against a pillar, feeling very lost.

Tia picked up Squirrel's hand, holding it between her own, and patted it consolingly. "Dere, dere, Miss Greeh. It en't somet'in' you should be troublin' yerself wit'." The merriment died from her eyes slightly. "Far more pressin' matters above deck, in deh daylight." She looked pointedly at the charts in Squirrel's arms, then turned away. She clucked her tongue, muttering to herself about what a mess this was, and how long it would take to set it all right.

Squirrel's mind feebly tried to work out what had just happened. Somehow, she was left with nothing more but a feeling that, somehow, she'd been duped. She just couldn't figure out how.

With a shake of the head, Squirrel turned and headed back up into the daylight, the charts held tight in her arms.

* * *

After spending a few moment studying them alone, Will unrolled the charts for all to see. He sat in the centre of a hastily-gathered circle of crewmen, who all craned to see their course. 

"Here," Will pointed, "There's a freshwater spring on that island. We can resupply there, and get back to shooting each other later." Neither of the captains could disagree on this plan of action; several looks passed between the crewmen, mostly wry or amused.

Jack, however, had something to say. He lifted his eyes laconically to Barbossa. "You lead the shore party, and I'll stay with the ship."

Barbossa's glance was hard and cold. "I'll not be leavin' my ship in your command," he burred.

Will forced a peacemaker's smile. "How about you both go, and leave the ship in my command." Both Jack and Barbossa turned to glare; Will bowed his head, and amended meekly, "… Temporarily."

After a moment's consideration, both Jack and Barbossa nodded. "Fair enough."

"Aye, that it is. Set a headin', nor-by-nor'west!"

"Nor-by-nor'west!"

"Clear this mess up and make ready t' sail!"

"Clear the decks and make ready to sail!"

"Not this again!" Squirrel moaned. She hadn't meant for anyone else to hear, but both Jack and Barbossa went quiet, each with similarly tight lines around their lips. They glared at each other a moment, then turned their backs and walked to opposite ends of the ship: Barbossa to the helm, Jack to the port side. However, as Barbossa climbed the stairs to the helm, Jack paused in his walk, one leg swinging to help him make an about-face, and weaved his way across to Squirrel.

"Mind if I have a word with you, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel felt her stomach clench, but she kept her face as blank as she could. "What about?"

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugged, and looked around, "Just things."

"What kind of things?"

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, _you're_ jumpy. Is there anything wrong with just talking?"

Squirrel turned to the lines and started checking them, setting the knots and biding the slack. "I don't feel much like talking right now."

"I know," Jack said, leaning against the rails and tucking one leg under the other. "That's why we need to talk." Squirrel did her best not to glance at the open triangle of space that his legs made - especially not the top-most point of the triangle - and she tried not to remember how Jack had landed on her. How it had felt to have him on her. It didn't work. She pulled her hair from behind her ear to help cover her face. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't know what she was thinking.

_Unlikely_.

"You talk, I'll listen." She moved past him, to the next line, keeping her burning face averted from his eyes. "I've got duties to attend to."

Jack followed after her, looking about lazily, as though there were something that he could be doing that was more important. Squirrel glanced around, and saw Will rolling up the charts. He wasn't looking at her, or even in her general direction. But she could see the hard glare of his eyes, could almost feel the tension he was restraining. His warning - their warning - replayed itself in Squirrel's mind. She knew she shouldn't be talking to Jack. She knew that. But she didn't have much choice. Squirrel grit her teeth and focused on the ropes.

"So… I owe you, now?" Jack looked up at the sky, squinting a little. "That's one I haven't heard in a while."

"Really?" Squirrel quipped.

His lips pulled sideways, but he threw back a challenge of his own. "So, which is it? Are we square for the burning, the shooting, or the drowning?"

She made sure the knot was tight before she looked at him. "None," she said frankly. "None of those."

"Ah." Jack nodded, then shifted his stance. "So, you still owe _me_, then." He smiled winningly.

Squirrel fought not to grind her teeth. _How on earth did I ever miss __this__ man's company, again?_ She unbound the next knot, and held the loose line in her hands, following it with her eyes to the block-and-tackle. It didn't need to be unbound or retied, but she had to keep herself busy. She had to.

"You're right, though. I definitely owe you for gettin' me out of the Locker." Jack slouched himself upright, then sauntered around behind her as she yanked viciously on the rope, then came to stand at her left, leaning on the next line to peer at her. "But I can't help but mention the fact that when everyone felt it quite profitable to ready their guns and hold 'em steady, you did the same. Only with your little knife-thingies, 'stead of a gun." He flapped a hand to the sash of blades. "And," he continued, as Squirrel fought not to squirm, "I happened to see where those blades of yours were pointing." He tilted his head in a way that was almost mocking, and gave a knowing smile.

Squirrel paused a moment, then slowly finished retying the knot. She did so carefully, deliberately, keeping her eyes on the fibres of the rope, the motion of her hands. When that was done she stared out to sea for a moment, using the sight of it to steady herself. Then, and only then, did she turn to meet Jack's eye.

"Barbossa told me you're one of the Pirate Lords."

Jack's expression went from smug to surprised to wary in a split second. "Yeah," he nodded, straightening up, "I am."

"How come you never told us that?"

Jack shrugged easily, and looked out at the sea in nonchalance. "You never asked, luv."

Squirrel moved onto the next rope. The one Jack wasn't leaning on. "So, is that how I'm supposed to learn things about you, Jack? By asking you?"

"It's a good way to start," Jack swivelled so he could watch her. "Polite, too."

Squirrel didn't even pretend to examine the rope this time. "So, if I wanted to know why you lied to us, I should just ask?"

Jack's teeth bared for a flicker of an instant as he smiled. "Lied to you? Luv, when did I lie to you?"

She turned and looked hard at him. "Answer _this_ first: when did you start keeping secrets? Was it after Barbossa betrayed you at Isla de Muerta? Or have you always been cagey?"

Jack's smile was gone now. "Everyone has their secrets."

"Granted," Squirrel leant against the railing, feigning a nonchalance she didn't really feel, "But your secrets have the nasty tendency to kill people. Leaving only one survivor." She pointed. "You."

Jack said nothing, but his dark eyes studied her carefully.

"Case in point," Squirrel turned her head to look out over the water again, "You'd made a deal with Davy Jones, thirteen years ago. But you didn't tell anyone. Not even when your time was drawing to a close. You dragged us all around the Atlantic, and you never told us why." She looked at him again. "You went into that Turkish prison, leaving us with the assurance that the treasure inside was 'worth more than anything we could ever imagine'. Your words, Jack. And then when you came out, all you had was a drawing of a key." Squirrel put her finger to her chin in mock-thoughtfulness. "Yes, it was important. But only to you."

"Is there a point to all this?" Jack asked flatly.

"You could have told us about your deal, Jack," Squirrel said quietly. "But you didn't."

"And what good would it have done, ey?" He frowned at her.

She looked placidly at him. "We could have helped you."

Jack looked gobsmacked a moment, then shook his head with a wry smile and a snort of laughter. "Help? You? Hah."

"No, really."

"I don't need help from anyone." He grinned, all devil-may-care and carefree. So familiar it nearly made Squirrel's heart ache. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"

Squirrel folded her arms. "Will had to get you out of the cell in Port Royal. And again, at the hanging, he had to help you escape. If he hadn't, you'd be dancing the hempen jig. And then…"

Jack frowned, holding up a hand, stopping her a moment. "Where'd you hear about that?"

She jerked her head, to where Will was talking to Tai Huang. "William told me."

"Turner?" Jack pulled a face, then glanced back to her. "Why?"

"Because I asked him to."

"Why?"

Squirrel shrugged. "For the stories." She raised an eyebrow, "Like the one about Jack Sparrow, and his battle with the Kraken. How valiantly he struggled with the oars as he rowed away and left his ship and his crew to their fate."

Jack held up a hand. "Enough with the sarcasm, luv. I get the point."

"Do you?" Squirrel pushed herself away from the line. "I would have done anything for you, Jack. Sail to the ends of the earth and beyond for you. Remember that? But you didn't tell us. You just ran and we had to follow. And then when the curse caught up with you, we had no choice but to suffer with the consequences. But we could have helped you, Jack."

Jack looked wary suddenly. "How, exactly?"

"Your compass wasn't working." Squirrel shrugged. "We could have helped you find the chest and the key easily. If only you'd asked. But you didn't; you didn't trust us. You didn't trust us to be your friends, or even to help you."

"With good reason."

"Oh? And what reason would that be?"

Jack raised a finger and opened his mouth, hesitated, closed his mouth again, lowered his finger, and frowned in thought. It seemed he couldn't find a good reason at all. Finally, he latched onto something. Smiling smugly, he said, "I didn't need help, luv. Everything worked out fine in the end, ey?" He grinned and pulled teasingly at his beard.

"But it might have worked out better if you hadn't lied to us," Squirrel said, her voice almost inaudible. "If you'd trusted us… You might not have died." The tremble in her voice didn't need to be faked. This line of thinking - that Jack's lies had contributed to his betrayal and his death - had been one of the many excuses Squirrel had held onto on the journey to Singapore. Better that than wonder if she could have done something to save him. Better that then suffer the guilt of being the catalyst for the loss of the heart, and Jones' revenge. But with the betrayal in question, what had once been a righteously-angry line of thinking was now one of the many, many things she doubted.

And another reason to fall in love with him all over again.

Jack looked at Squirrel steadily. She hadn't seen him look at her like this before. He was hesitant, almost; softly disbelieving, thoughtful.

"So," he said slowly, measuring each word, "You don't trust me."

"I've never trusted you, Jack," Squirrel said lightly. "'Never trust a pirate', you said. I never could read you, anyway."

But Jack shook his head, that same look in his eyes. "No, that's not what I mean. You may not have trusted _me_, but you _trusted_ me. Even when things were going to hell, you _trusted_ me." The way he stressed the words made it obvious to Squirrel what he was referring to. Jack's shoulders slumped slightly, and he seemed to shrink as he'd done on the day he decided to abandon the _Pearl_. "And now you don't." He didn't voice what he really mean - he couldn't. That wasn't his way. But Squirrel heard the unspoken nonetheless, and she found she couldn't meet Jack's eyes anymore.

Squirrel glanced across the deck a moment, looking across at where Elizabeth stood. The woman was standing at the railing, looking out to sea, her golden hair bright and beautifully billowing in the wind. She stood like a pirate would, self-assured even in the midst of all her suffering. It had been something Squirrel had envied about the young woman; she envied her still. Squirrel pulled her eyes back before Jack noticed.

But Jack did notice. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw what Squirrel had seen. He turned back to Squirrel, and his eyes were guarded again. But there was an understanding in them.

"Ah," he said, "Ever since I got back, you've been wanting to pick a fight with me. I was wondering about that." He glanced back at Elizabeth again. "Now it makes sense." His hand clenched into a fist.

Squirrel sighed heavily. She hadn't wanted to speak of this. Though the event had happened over one hundred days ago, the wounds were as fresh as they'd ever been. "Jack," she murmured, "I… I'll step aside, if that's what you want."

Jack's eyes went flinty, but at the same time, his lips curved with a hint of gold. "'Step aside'? Luv, please don't tell me you're givin' up on me that easy?"

"But how am I supposed to trust you now?" The words burst from Squirrel's lips, and she was surprised she didn't choke on them. "I know you, Jack. I would have thought you'd changed, but you haven't."

The pirate raised an eyebrow, almost smiling to himself. "That's part of my charm, innit."

_Damn him, why can't he be serious about this?_ Squirrel near but glowered at him. Jack, seeing the look on her face, held up both palms and smoothed his expression down to as serious as he could manage.

"Don't step aside," Jack murmured, and the huskiness of his voice sent shivers down her spine. "I'd rather have a fight with you than a kiss from her," he jerked his head, "Any day."

The word 'kiss' made Squirrel look away. She had to. "But in the end," she whispered, "You're happier in the light of the sun than the light of the moon."

"Bollocks."

Squirrel looked up at him, surprised. Jack rarely cussed. He'd rather use long words, jargon no-one could understand or even follow. He's rather have people puzzled, at a loss to understand him, than to be plain-spoken and easily-read.

"If we're going to descend into the depth of metaphor once again," Jack took hold of one of the lines and hung lazily from it, "Then let me say this." His pointed finger sawed back and forth in the air before her nose, "The moon is far better than the sun is."

"Bollocks," Squirrel replied, gently, so as not to cut him down. "Why would you want the moon, when you can have the sun?" She rubbed her arms and looked out to the sea. "The moon's nothing more than a pale reflection, anyway. And it's not… as constant as the sun. Sometimes it's not even there at all."

Jack stood beside her, still hanging one-armed from the line. "No, it's always there. You can tell it's there, sometimes, just by the simple fact that there's a shadow in the sky." He put a hand on her shoulder, half-turning Squirrel to face him. "The sun can tell you where north, south, east and west is." He gestured with a limp-wristed hand in each of the directions. "But with the moon… When the moon is out, the stars come out with her. And the stars provide better directions than the sun ever could." He shrugged, as though it were nothing too surprising to admit. "Can't see the stars when the sun is out. The moon, though… Sometimes you can see the moon during the day." He grinned. "So much for her being inconstant. I think you mean to say that she's there even when she should be somewhere else. And the fact that she's always changing…" He ran a finger along her forearm, "Has a certain… _je ne sais quoi_."

His eyes were so deep, so dark, so beautiful. Squirrel had to turn away from him a moment. Her hands were shaking, and she could hear her heart in her ears. _No, stop. I can't. I can't hear this. I can't believe this. I can't_. Her heartbeat, however, was telling her something very different.

Jack smiled at her reddening face, then looked out over the water, running his hand slowly back and forth along the railing. "And the sea may be calm under a sunny sky, luv, but it's pulled and pushed by the moon. The moon controls the tide. You knew that, didn't you, darlin'?" He looked at her with a tilted head. Squirrel kept her eyes on the horizon. Jack shrugged, still smiling to himself. "And… Well, sunlight's all well and good, but it does tend to burn after a while." He glanced scathingly at Elizabeth, then back to Squirrel. "Light of the moon is far kinder." His voice was low. As low as it had been when he'd asked her to stay. As low as it had been when he'd first kissed her.

Squirrel licked her lips and found her voice at last. "But it can drive you mad."

Jack swayed on his feet as he smiled. "I haven't got a problem with that, luv. I'm already… 'eccentric'." Then his smile vanished, and he looked seriously, thoughtfully, at her. "I can understand why you don't trust me, luv." He held out his right hand, a peace offering. "But can you at least give me a second chance?" He smiled coyly at her. "Think you can… _trust_ me… again?"

Squirrel found herself smiling despite the ache in her chest. She turned her eyes away, and sighed. "Jack…" She closed her eyes as the breeze pressed at her face and teased her loose hair. All her promises, all her vows, all her bitter and broken-hearted words were on this breeze. She remembered all of them - how could she forget? "I…" She sighed again. "I can't."

Jack looked hurt, disappointed. He withdrew his hand slowly, let it drop to his side.

But the breeze whispered hope as well as truth. "At least," Squirrel amended, "Not right now."

He brightened a little at that, and looked at her knowingly. "I see." He tilted his head again, swayed back on his feet to consider her a little better. "So, how am I going to win you back, ey?"

Squirrel's blood surged, but she kept a straight face. She busied her hands with the last rope. "You can't win me back," she said, offhandedly.

Jack frowned, confused and off-guard. "… b…"

"You're a pirate," she continued, slowly unwinding the line. "You don't 'win' anything."

"Ah." He smiled, wider this time. He weaved on his feet, teasingly. "I have to _steal_ your heart, then, ey?"

Squirrel shut one eye and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Maybe," she said, "Just make sure you don't cut yourself on the pieces."

Jack smiled slowly at her, a look of admiration in his eyes. For a moment, he looked about to say something more.

"Land ho!" Cotton's parrot screeched from the rigging. "Avast! Shore leave!"

Squirrel refastened the line, then turned to Jack once more. But he was gone, rushing to his cabin for some unknown reason. She watched him go, watched his arms flailing and his body swaying, and heaved a sigh. _That rogue_, she thought fondly. Then she froze, almost baring her teeth. _What am I doing? I can't… I can't be…_ She sighed heavily, cursing herself. _I'm falling in love with him all over again. Fool's errand indeed_.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared at the scar in the palm of her left hand and the faded handprint on her right forearm. And she smiled.

* * *

Barbossa stood at the helm with his telescope in his hand, surveying the island. Jack stood beside him, opening the longest telescope that Squirrel had ever seen. Barbossa lowered his eyepiece with an unimpressed but amused glance sidelong at Jack, then looked to Squirrel as if to say, _Can you believe the idiocy of this man?_

Squirrel kept a straight face, but was laughing inside. _What is it with boys and their 'scopes?_ She almost giggled at the innuendo. Instead, she focused on the island they were floating offshore from. She stood between the two captains, squinting across the distance. High cliffs and green slopes bordered wide beaches of black sand. 

"Looks volcanic," she murmured. "We might find some decent wild fruits and vegetables there."

She felt a tap on her left shoulder, and looked to see Barbossa offering her his spyglass. She accepted it graciously, and put it to her eye. She did, however, catch Barbossa give a smirk to her right, and pressed her lips together to hide her smile.

"Here, luv," Jack said, a concerned but nonchalant frown in his voice, "Why don't you use mine?"

Squirrel had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. "No, thankyou, Jack. I prefer this one. It's of a more manageable size." Barbossa smirked, victorious; Jack looked at Barbossa in suspicion and distaste, and transferred that look to the overly-extended telescope he held. Squirrel scanned the coast briefly, for appearance's sake, then handed the glass back to Barbossa and headed down to the deck. Once she was far enough from the helm, she allowed herself to cough into her hands. Her shoulders continued to shake, however, long after she was finished coughing.

"Miss Grey?"

Squirrel looked up, her laughter done, and saw Will standing at the railing. It was rather an imperial-looking pose; shoulders back, chin up, one hand on the dagger he kept at his belt, half-turned to face the helm but staring out over the water. Out of habit and familiarity, Squirrel smiled as she went to his side.

"Yes, Mister Turner?" She lowered her voice as she, too, pretended to look towards the island. "Is it time? Are we taking the _Pearl_?"

"No." Will looked at her frankly, face blank. "We need supplies, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Squirrel glanced to the helm, then back to Will. "So, after Hector and Jack are away?"

"No."

Squirrel frowned slightly. Jack and Barbossa were leaving. The ship would be in Will's command. With only a few words of assurance from Squirrel, everyone left aboard would be on their side. That was the plan. She paused to survey the ship, wondering what was wrong. Tai Huang and his men were readying the boats, and the original crew were gathering gourds and barrels and water-skins for the trip out. Tia was seated on a barrel, playing mah-jong - Squirrel wondered for a moment how on earth the woman had managed to keep them with her, after all this time - and Elizabeth stood at the prow, watching the far horizon. Nothing seemed amiss. But there was a tension in the air, all the same. A subtle smell of treachery.

"What's going on?" Squirrel asked in a low voice. "This is the perfect opportunity, William! We can take the _Black Pearl_ and no-one will be able to stop us!"

Will turned his head and looked at her steadily. Under his hard gaze, Squirrel faltered.

"You'll go with them," he said, then looked at the island again.

Squirrel gaped at him a moment, then shook her head and hissed, "Oh, no, I won't." She looked again to Jack and Barbossa, who were, by now, fighting over who should get in the lifeboat first. She looked back to Will. "Are you mad? You can't send me down there with Jack and Barbossa! That's insanity!" She looked with distaste at the two captains. Despite her rediscovered feelings for one of them, they were still acting like children. Stupid children. "If they keep that up, I'm going to go mad."

"Regardless," Will shrugged, indifferent, "You have to go."

She grabbed his sleeve. "We had a deal, William," she hissed.

Will shook his arm free without even looking at her. "I'm going to get the _Black Pearl_," he said. "But you have to leave. It's too dangerous for you to stay here."

"Too danger…" Squirrel frowned at him, then stared, eyed wide and skin paling. "Will," she murmured, backing away from him slightly, "What have you done? What did you…"

Will said nothing; he set his shoulders and stared even more resolutely seawards.

Squirrel glanced around the ship again. Jack and Barbossa hung back, waiting for Marty, Cotton, Pintel and Ragetti to get into the boats first before they did. Gibbs was to stay behind. Tai Huang and some of his men were going too, but the majority of the Singaporean pirates were staying on the _Pearl_.

And they were the only ones carrying arms.

The light of realisation dawned, and what it revealed to Squirrel was not a pretty sight. She turned to Will, dumbstruck. "You made another deal with Sao Feng? And you didn't tell me?"

"The deal had to change, given the circumstances." It wasn't an explanation. It was flat fact, cold hard reality. Take it or leave it. "Sao Feng had been discovered by the Company. He no longer needed revenge. He needed something to guarantee his safety." He turned one eye to her. "Leverage."

Squirrel clenched both fists as she digested this. She'd met Sao Feng in his temple, a commanding presence with power and authority. He had been intelligent, eloquent, and frighteningly charming. Yet she'd seen him alone, in a place of security; in a temple, amidst the curling tendrils of incense. She'd seen the Pirate Lord; she had seen the man as he'd wished to be, but not who he was. The pieces were coming together. Sao Feng was a coward. A coward and a bully, just like Xin Fu. And he was going to use Jack to buy his protection.

But if it was Beckett's protection, what kind of safety would that be? And, for that matter, how trustworthy could Sao Feng be, if he was willing to make a deal with the very enemy they fought?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Squirrel asked again, almost pleading this time.

Will barely moved. It was just a miniscule twitch of his shoulder that denoted his shrug. "I don't need your help any more."

She was facing Will, but somehow she felt like he had driven a knife right between her shoulder blades. She'd done so much for this plan, so much for Will, and he had shut her out and pushed her away. Betrayal hurt. And it hurt badly. She felt tears spring to her eyes, but blinked them away. "Is this because I didn't tell you Sao Feng was my contact? Is this your way of getting back at me?" Her voice was rising in pitch; she fought to calm herself, to speak rationally, calmly. It didn't entirely work. "Will, you can't do this! Not like this!"

He turned to look at her, at last. "I have to. There's no other way."

She felt her heart turn icy, felt her tears vanish. She took a breath, steeling herself with indignant anger instead. "Well, the least you could have done was let me know what you were planning." She tried not to show how much this mattered to her. "After all, I did promise to help you."

Will looked back to the island, and tightened the grip on his dagger. But he said nothing.

"Fine," Squirrel said coldly. "I'll be on the island with the bickering captains, then. Shame I won't be here to help you when you need me." She turned away, cloak swishing around her ankles, throwing the hood over her head.

"I don't need your help, Miss Grey."

Squirrel halted a moment as his words hit her. She glanced back, one last time. She made her words a whisper to hide how she felt. "You'll always need my help, William." And then she walked on, leaving him behind.

"You first."

"No, I insist. You first."

"A gentleman always lets others go first."

"Oh, but isn't it supposed to be ladies first?"

Squirrel pushed the scowling Barbossa and the smirking Jack aside, and vaulted over the railing and into the longboat. She found her balance, sat down, barked at the two Singaporeans to ready the oars, then looked back across the deck. "When you lads are ready."

Shamed into silence yet again, Barbossa and Jack exchanged glances, sighed in tandem, then climbed into the boat at the same time. Barbossa sat on Squirrel's left; Jack sat on Squirrel's right.

_Well_, she thought, _At least I'll keep them from ripping each others' throats out._ The thought was a bitter one, and was chased by others of the same ilk. _Betrayed by the very traitor I trusted_. Her lips twisted. _I hate irony. But I suppose I should have taken the hint when he found out Elizabeth still loved him._

Jack glanced at her, trying to see her eyes under her hood, and winked. Squirrel gave him a short, almost false smile in return, then turned her eyes to the island, trying not to feel like a traitor herself. _Everyone has secrets_, she told herself, trying to smother the guilt, _And this is ours. Even if it's one he doesn't want me part of anymore, this secret is between me and William_.

"Cast off!" Gibbs called, throwing the ropes down. The fleet of longboats began their slow crawl across the textured sea, headed towards the island. Squirrel, sandwiched between the two stiffly-seated and forcibly-silent captains, glanced back only once.

_Too dangerous_, she thought, as the _Pearl_ shrank away. _What the hell are you planning?_

**

* * *

A/N**: CLIFFHANGER! Hope you can remember all the stuff that just happened. I make no apologies for the length. This is how its meant to be. Does this chapter has a certain _je ne sais quoi?_ Let me know! I love hearing from you. More soon.

-edit- Fixed up the look of the island. I blame that I hadn't seen the movie in a while.


	9. Respect For The Dead

**Disclaimer**: And he's got a great disclaimer.

**A/N**: Urgh. Looks like my update schedule is once a week. I'll try and fix that. As soon as I'm done with all these assignments. Curse you, university! Why must you burden me with assignments so? -_weeps_-

* * *

Squirrel had thought all the surprises for the day lay behind her, back on the _Black Pearl_. But she had been wrong. The moment the longboats were landed and beached on the black volcanic soil, she was out and walking towards a distant shape. A shape both familiar and alien at the same time. 

The mere sight of it weighed Squirrel's heart down with pity.

Seagulls circled, riotously swearing and battering each other with their wings as their fought over the gigantic beached carcass. The majority of the pirates stood at a distance, uncertain, wary. Only a handful approached, came close to the fallen beast. There was no doubt that it was dead. The birds would not have been so bold, otherwise.

The Kraken lay across the beach, bloated in the sun, its gigantic tentacles trailing and bobbing in the surf. The ancient creature was dead. Slain. Rotting in the sun.

Squirrel approached it, braving the smell of it to stand a mere foot from its thick hide and wide staring eye. It seemed smaller, somehow. In her _shou_-induced hallucination she'd seen the Kraken up-close, been dwarfed by the size of its all-knowing eye. She'd been lost in the expanse of it. And when she'd been wrapped in its arms and thrown about, she'd felt like little more than a rag-doll. But here? Now? The gigantic beast, the terror of the seas, the Kraken… it seemed diminished. As though death had not only robbed it of its power, but its presence as well. It had been a force to fear, what nightmares were made of. Squirrel herself had been terrified by it, had learned that all fear paled in the presence of this creature. But what was it now? Just another sea-creature, washed ashore on some lonely beach, a bloated carcass for birds to feed on.

_So this is what happens_, Squirrel thought, _when a legend dies_.

She looked over her shoulder, and saw both Jack and Barbossa considering the Kraken with solemn faces. Jack had that same thoughtful look in his eyes he had the night Governor Swann had sailed off into the darkness, but it was tempered with something more. Pain, almost. The bleak inevitability of death.

Squirrel turned back to face the Kraken's eye, and held up her torn left hand. "What had you wanted to tell me?" She wondered, softly, to herself. The eye of the Kraken showed nothing. The knowledge it had promised her in her dreams was lost. Squirrel sighed, and looked at the great beast with pity. She couldn't fear this creature anymore, couldn't hate it. If anything, she mourned it. Months ago, such an idea would have seemed ridiculous. Not anymore. She craned her head back, examining the thick hide of the beast, seeing each and every scar, each and every wound, and wondering what stories this beast might have told, were it able. Wondering what knowledge was now lost with its death.

"Still thinkin' of runnin', Jack?" She heard Barbossa ask, from behind her. "Think you can outrun the world?" For once, the two men seemed to be on common ground. And they shared the same reflective mood at the sight of such a great creature lying slain. "Y'know, the problem with bein' the last of anythin'… by and by, there be none left at all."

Squirrel held up her torn hand, inches from the thick mangled skin of the Kraken, her palm turned towards it. She wouldn't touch it; it wouldn't be respectful. But she moved it slowly over the creature's skin. _You didn't deserve to die like this_.

"Sometimes things come back," Jack managed to sound light-hearted. "We're living proof, you and me."

"Aye, but that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it? There's no guarantee of comin' back. But passin' on, that's dead certain." Barbossa heaved a heavy sigh. "The world used to be a bigger place."

"It's the same size," Jack said, with a voice just as heavy. "There's just… less in it."

Pintel and Ragetti's voices above her caused Squirrel to look up. They were climbing over the Kraken's great body, kicking and laughing and discussing how best to turn a profit from what they'd discovered.

"Get down from there!" She barked at them. "Have some respect for the dead!"

Chastened, the two of them slid down the creature. They kicked around the sand and surf and the Kraken's tentacles, heads bowed like reprimanded children. In the reflection of the Kraken's eye, Squirrel saw both Barbossa and Jack looking at her. She bowed her head, and said nothing more.

"Summoning the Brethren Court, is it?" Jack asked.

"Aye. Our only hope."

"That's a sad commentary in and of itself."

Squirrel turned to face them just in time to see Jack turn and walk away, slowly heading back up the beach. Barbossa remained where he was, studying the ancient creature. His eyes caught Squirrel's, and he nodded, acknowledging her. Squirrel folded her cloak around her, shivering despite the heat of the day. She went to Barbossa's side, then turned and looked back at the ancient sea-creature.

"Why would they kill it?" She asked, "It was their greatest weapon."

Barbossa sighed and half-bowed his head. "Aye, and therein lies the proverbial rub. It were a great weapon, but one that could only be controlled by Jones hisself."

"So Beckett had it destroyed so Jones couldn't fight back." Squirrel sighed as she looked at the discarded, sunken corpse of the once-mighty Kraken. "It doesn't seem fair."

"Life ain't fair," Jack's voice came from behind them both. "Cruel, hard fact." Squirrel and Barbossa glanced around. Jack was waiting for them, hands on hips and tapping one foot in the sand. "You two coming, or what?"

Barbossa spared one last glance each for the Kraken, then turned and headed back up the beach. Squirrel remained where she stood for a moment longer.

_So_, Squirrel thought, moved to introspection at the Kraken's death, _Davy Jones is as much a prisoner as Jack was. For all his power and greatness, he has no control over his life_. _Once a legend, now a pawn in a game. I doubt he sees himself this way, but I can't help but pity him. _She sighed softly. _Captain Davy Jones. How did it happen, I wonder? How did a man who loved a woman more than his own life end up a monster, a devil even? How did he end up a prisoner of his own beating heart?_

She took one last glance at the Kraken. Pintel and Ragetti's antics seemed to have done no damage to the already-fallen behemoth, though it was hard to tell. _There's nothing we can do for it. Not even a requiem or a grave. The least that can be done is to leave it be. Honour the fallen_. She pushed a strand of hair that the wind was teasing out of her face. _'Respect for the dead', I said_. She frowned slightly. _Pirates don't do that. 'Fall behind, left behind'. That's the code. That's our way._ She bit her lip. _But that's not what we did, is it?_

'…_and already the world seems less bright_.' Gibbs' eulogy spoken by candlelight filtered back through her memory. Squirrel paused a moment, and looked up the beach. Jack and Barbossa walked with slow, steady strides across the black sand. The sight of them both rekindled memories that were keen and cutting as knives. _They're not dead. Not anymore. Either of them. They both fell behind. But we went back. For Jack Sparrow; we didn't leave him. We couldn't. Like it or not, we're all bound to him. Bound by what, though? Loyalty? Love? Money owed? Fire and metal?_ She glanced down at her arm, at the handprint Jack had left. _We keep coming back. But why?_ _Just to betray him?_

Squirrel looked out to sea, where the _Black Pearl_ was moored. _I'm part of this_, she thought, slowly and slightly pained, _I helped lay the plans with William, I spoke with and made a deal with Sao Feng. I'm part of this mutiny. Even if I'm not holding a blade to his throat, I'm still betraying him_. She kicked at the sand, and brushed her cloak away from her shoulders. _It felt right before. Now I don't know what to feel. I don't want to be a part of this anymore_. _But I can't get away. _She glanced towards Jack. _You want to trust me, Jack? You can't. Not like this. Not now_.

_I can trust you_, she sighed, _but you can't trust me. What a strange and horrible reversal._

"Ye comin', angel?"

Barbossa had halted, and was looking at her in some concern. Squirrel smoothed down her face, and hurried to rejoin him and the rest of the group.

_Why would Will say he wouldn't need me aboard, though?_ She wondered, as she kept pace with Barbossa. _If Elizabeth and Tia are still aboard, why would it be dangerous for me to stay as well? Surely, it would be better if I stayed with Will. I am his ally in his mutiny, after all._ She frowned slightly for a second. _Wait a moment. Is he protecting me? But if that's so, what is he protecting me from?_

Further up the beach, Tai Huang stood nonchalantly, studying the Kraken from a distance as though it were nothing more than a curiosity. She noted absently that his hand was on the hilt of his sword. Tai Huang saw Squirrel watching him, and slowly turned away, taking his hand from his weapon.

_What have you planned, William?_ She wondered, glancing again at the _Black Pearl_ as she joined the group on the shore, _And why didn't you want me to be a part of it?_

"If we follow the lay of the land," one of the Singaporean pirates was saying, "We should find water further uphill."

Jack glanced over his shoulder, all nonchalance and carelessness again. "That right, luv?"

Squirrel shook herself from her thoughts and looked around. A trickle of a stream flowed down from the rocks nearby, and dripped into the sand. They could easily collect the water there, but it would be better to find the source. Water collected without knowledge of where it had been could make you sick. Uphill would be best.

"_Dui_," she nodded. Then, at the crew's raised eyebrows, she translated, "Yes."

"Right then," Barbossa strode forward, "Off we go." He glanced at Jack, daring him; Jack responded in kind. The two pirates jostled shoulders and climbed with wide strides in an effort to be in the lead. Squirrel sighed wearily, then followed after them.

She could hear them bickering and griping as they pushed through the undergrowth. However, it was hard going, and soon the two of them fell into a surly silence. As the crew climbed through the trees, the only sounds were those of heavy booted feet and the swing of swords, slicing through the foliage. Barbossa - either by age or wisdom - had relinquished the lead, allowing Jack to forge his way forward, alone.

Squirrel found herself watching him fondly as she followed in his footsteps. He still had that sway to his walk, that semi-drunken swagger. Those eyes and that smile could be so deceptive. He was a man that could easily be underestimated, but Squirrel knew from experience that Jack Sparrow was no fool._ You're a man like none I've ever known, Jack Sparrow. You've caused me such joy and such heartache, such happiness and such pain. And often at the same time, too._ She sighed as she continued to climb, and kept her eyes on the path under her feet. _I don't know how to feel about you anymore, Jack. You want me to trust you but… I don't even know if I can trust myself, anymore. Especially not with how I feel about you_. She closed her eyes a moment. _Dammit, Jack, why can't I just think straight about you for a moment? Why do you make my thoughts go in circles?_ She looked up again, eyes distant. She had to admit it, even if it hurt. _I know you'll never feel for me the way I do for you, Jack. I know that… And I know that I'll end up alone in the end. I am a woman of the sea, after all._ But she couldn't help but smile a smile all for him, a smile all because of him. Even if the smile was beautiful and sad, it was for and because of Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack reached the top of the trail, and hesitated, his hand slowly going to his pistol. Barbossa and Squirrel came up behind, and Squirrel caught her breath in alarm when she saw what Jack had seen.

A bloated man floated in the pool, facedown and clearly long dead.

Barbossa pushed past Jack, and swiped a finger in the water. He tasted it, then spat straight away. "Poisoned," he explained, "Fouled by the body."

Squirrel came as close as she dared, staring at the corpse. The armour was familiar. Too familiar. She'd seen it's like in Singapore. It was the armour Xin Fu and his men had worn. _Exactly_ the armour. This was him, for certain. One of Xin Fu's men. A few of them had escaped Will's blade, after all. Squirrel shuddered, remembering, her hands clenching into white-knuckled fists.

Jack saw her cringing in fear, and frowned slightly. "Something the matter, luv?"

But it was Pintel who spoke. He'd stepped into the pool and turned the body over. "Hey, I know 'im! He was in Singapore!"

The sight of a wooden stake impaled through the man's mouth and out the back of his skull did nothing to calm Squirrel's fears. The man was dead, but his eyes were open. And they stared out at her, glassy and white, and made her recall the night she'd been pinned against the wall under his hands. Squirrel made a noise halfway through a yelp and a whimper; she bowed over the bushes by the path and dry-retched, her whole body shaking.

_No, no, no, no… I don't want to remember this. I don't want to…_

"Luv?"

Squirrel hauled herself upright and tried to steady her breathing. "M'fine," she mumbled. She glanced sideways, and saw both Jack and Barbossa looking at her curiously, both with concern on their faces and in their eyes. She looked at them instead, focusing on them instead of the body in the pool. These were men she could trust. They wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't touch her. Not like that bastard Xin Fu and his damned lackeys. And their greedy, painful hands.

_He's dead. He can't touch me ever again. He's dead_.

The crew fanned out looking for signs of any more springs or pools nearby; Tai Huang's men moved to the side of the pool, studying the slain soldier with distant concern. Squirrel straightened up, still shaking, and pushed her hair back from her face in an effort to calm herself. She fiddled with her necklace and looked everywhere but the body in the water. And, as a result, she noticed things that made her gut churn.

There was a smell in the air, and it seemed to be getting stronger. That same smell of betrayal that had been back on the _Pearl_. Squirrel could hear her heart beating the word _mutiny, mutiny, mutiny_ over and over again. The crew were oblivious, it seemed; Jack and Barbossa, the most alert of pirates, were more concerned with the body in the water.

Tai Huang stood beside Squirrel, glancing lazily about. He watched his men absently, one hand on the hilt of his daggers. He glanced at her, face blank; he saw the alertness in her eyes, then looked to the body with sudden and implausible concern. Squirrel tensed her shoulders, her breath catching in her throat as he left her where she stood.

_Why aren't you surprised by this? What's going on?_

"It's a strange thing, though," Barbossa was saying, nudging the whitened corpse with the toe of his boot, "How is it that one of these fellows should be here?" Jack frowned thoughtfully in agreement, but said nothing. He glared slightly at Barbossa; Barbossa glared back. Clearly, they each suspected the other of foul play. After all, they'd both betrayed and been betrayed by the other before.

Squirrel fought not to squirm where she stood. _If they knew who the real traitor was…_ She bit her lip slightly. _I know I'd never be forgiven. Ever_.

"Captain!" Marty cried, from further uphill. He pointed back down to the beach. Squirrel's eyes followed his gesture, and he saw Ragetti on the beach, waving and gesturing frantically.

"Oi!" The lanky pirate called, panicked, "We got company!"

Squirrel saw the orange finned sails on the water before Ragetti had even spoken a word. But it took his fearful cries to make her believe what she was seeing. _Mutiny, mutiny, mutiny_ shouted her heartbeat, as Sao Feng's ship bore down on the _Black Pearl_.

_He's here? How? Impossible! We're in the Caribbean! It would have taken him months to even…_

The air was shattered with the sound of steel being drawn and pistols being cocked.

Squirrel whirled back, both hands flying to her leather sash. Tai Huang's men had Jack - along with the rest of the crew - surrounded. Held at gun- and knife-point. But it was mostly around Jack that the blades and guns were pointed. Surrounded as he was, Jack tried to do what he was best at. Leave someone else to take the blame.

"He's the captain," Jack gestured over his shoulder to Barbossa, who merely rolled his eyes.

There wasn't a single weapon on Squirrel. No-one to stop her. But, as she had done not hours before, she hesitated, her fingers barely touching the blades.

_Making a deal with Sao Feng_, Squirrel realised. _Jack for a ship, a map and a crew. An unfair trade, but to our advantage. Was this your second deal, William?_ She looked around the clearing, at the way the Singaporean pirates outnumbered the _Pearl_'s crew three to one. _Yes, I can see how it would have been dangerous for me to stay aboard. But no more so than being here_. She glanced around, furtively, frightened. _But for a completely different reason._

Tai Huang's men were watching the crew closely, but the crew were all watching her. Suspicion and incredulity. Jack's dark emotionless eyes bore into her. _No, no, I'm not part of this_, Squirrel said, willing it to be shown through her eyes. _I didn't know about this. I'm not the traitor here. I'm not guilty_. But every moment she hesitated, in the eyes of the crew she proved her own lies to be just that. She grit her teeth and started to draw her blades from the sash.

Tai Huang looked at her lazily, smirking. A blade snapped out from under the barrel of his gun, aimed cleanly and cruelly at Jack's head. Some of the men chuckled at the way Squirrel's face went chalky, at the way Jack's eyes widened in alarm. Tai Huang himself said nothing. Just smirked at Squirrel. Waiting.

Squirrel looked around. At Gibbs, Marty, Cotton, Pintel. Her friends, who were depending on her, who knew about her hidden fighting spirit. To Barbossa, who'd taught her how to dance and how to fight. To Jack, who she loved and hated in equal measure. They were all waiting. Watching her. The tension stretched.

Finally, Squirrel raised her hands to eye-level, fingers spread wide, surrendering. She couldn't fight. If she hadn't fallen back in love with Jack she would have fought. But she had, so she couldn't. She spared Jack an apologetic glance, but the guilt at her part in all this made her look away before she could see what he thought.

"You were going to make me captain," Squirrel glared instead at Tai Huang, her words the only weapons she could use. He didn't even flinch at the accusation.

"And now you know why. Women, for all their power they hold over men," he paused to smirk at both Barbossa and Jack, who both sneered back, "Are weak and foolish." He turned his arrogant face back to Squirrel. "A compassionate heart bleeds too easily." His men laughed softly. Tai Huang jerked his chin at her, a silent command.

Squirrel glanced down at her open shirt, and understood immediately. Scowling, she did as she'd been told: she buttoned up her blue shirt, effectively locking her weapons away under the cloth. The only weapons she could use - her sword and her dagger - would be of no use. Jack would be dead before she'd even be able to draw them. After she'd buttoned her shirt, Squirrel just stood by the path, fists clenched by her side, feeling betrayed and foolish. No-one looked at her like they blamed her, but they didn't look at her with admiration, either.

"_Move out_!" Tai Huang barked, and his men began to manoeuvre the crew of the _Pearl_ down to the beach.


	10. Chains

**Disclaimer**: You could peel paint with that disclaimer.

**A/N**: Ooh, I wanted to do this chapter for a long time. Yay! Unfortunately, you're only getting the first half of it. For the sake of average chapter length - as well as for the simple fact that there's so much happening - I've cut it in half. I had to. Please to enjoy the first half.

* * *

Squirrel climbed up onto the _Pearl_ to find the mutiny long since done. She looked around, scarcely able to believe her eyes, at the sight of Sao Feng's men, chanting and cheering on the deck of the _Pearl_, and at the _Pearl_'s crew under heavy guard. They looked around at the Singaporean pirates with indignant, resentful expressions, then looked to Squirrel and the others, silently saying 'oh, you got beaten too, did you?' 

Squirrel moved quietly to the side, keeping her eyes down.

"Sao Feng," Barbossa burred as he strode past her to the Singaporean captain, "You showin' up here is a remarkable _coincidence_." He stressed the word - he had no more liking for it than Squirrel did. There were no such things. Especially not in these circumstances.

Sao Feng turned and smirked at Barbossa. "Fortune smiles on those prepared to meet its gaze."

Squirrel, still standing near the railing, felt someone crouching behind her. She turned her head, and saw Jack behind her, using her cloak to hide the fact he was there. The way he cringed recalled for Squirrel a day, long ago, when the monkey that bore the captain's name had done the very same thing. She twisted her lips, trying to fight a smile; Jack looked up at her, and the fear in his eyes wiped her smile away. He rested one hand on the small of her back, for balance. And, perhaps, for comfort.

"Jack Sparrow." Sao Feng stepped forward, and with a careless hand pushed Squirrel roughly out of the way. Squirrel staggered to regain her footing. Jack didn't even glance her way. He was too busy straightening up and trying to look as carefree and careless as he'd ever been. Sao Feng looked barely the master of his temper. "You paid me great insult once," he snarled at Jack.

Jack tried to smile. "That doesn't sound like me."

Sao Feng's fist snapped out, and connected sharply with Jack's face. The _Pearl_'s crew all winced in sympathy. Jack himself reeled on his feet, and put a hand to his nose. Squirrel heard the crunch of bone as Jack reset his nose, and winced with him.

"So," Jack managed feebly, still trying to smile, "We're all square, then?"

Sao Feng's eyes glittered dangerously, darkly, as they had in the shadows of the temple. "Hardly," he hissed.

Will pushed through the throng of Asiatic crewmen. Squirrel's face snapped to him instantly, and her lips parted in what might have been a question or a cry for aid. Will, however, did not even deign to look in her direction. He pointed to Elizabeth, who stood surrounded by armed guards. She had a stubborn set to her jaw which showed she did not take this mutiny well. Squirrel looked away, mouth twisting in resigned disappointment, but as she did so she caught sight of Barbossa's expression.

He'd seen her face. He'd seen her eyes. He _knew_.

"She's not part of the bargain," Will said boldly to Sao Feng. "Release her."

Barbossa looked sharply between Will and Sao Feng. "Bargain?"

Sao Feng turned lazily around, smirking. "You heard Captain Turner," he lifted his voice to his crew. "Release her."

Jack looked at Will, still cupping his nose with one hand. "_Captain_ Turner?" he muttered, incredulous. He glanced at Squirrel, expecting her to be just as surprised as he was. "_Captain_?"

She looked back at him, making her eyes as wide and innocuous as she could. _I'm innocent of this. My hands are clean. I'm not a part of this._

"Aye," Gibbs said, voice full of venom. "The perfidious rotter led a mutiny against us."

Elizabeth was freed from her bonds, and ran straight to Will's side. But she didn't throw herself in his arms, as she might have done once. "Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, and Squirrel felt a strange pang - she'd asked him the very same thing, with the very same voice.

Will's face was just as hard now as it had been then. "It was my burden to bear."

Judging from Elizabeth's expression, something like those words had been spoken between them before. A cruel twist of fate; a reversal; a tit for tat.

Will lifted his eyes to the two incredulous prisoner-captains. "I needed the _Pearl_," he explained to Jack and Barbossa, without so much as even a hint of apology. "It was the only way I could free my father." He looked again to Elizabeth, and there was a slight softening of his gaze. But she didn't see it.

Squirrel did.

Jack looked at Will, his lips pulled back in that animal expression of disgust. "You needed the _Pearl_," he said, sounding almost like he was whining. "You," he pointed to Elizabeth, "Felt guilty." He turned to Barbossa. "You, and your Brethren Court…" To her surprise, Jack turned to Squirrel, eyes dark. "And you… You…" He sighed angrily through his teeth and turned his back on her, shaking his head.

Squirrel blanched, surprised and hurt. _He can't know. Surely. I only told him about my broken heart. He couldn't have figured it out_. _He __couldn't__ have_.

"Did no-one come to save me, just because they missed me?" Jack appealed, arms wide, to the crew.

_Why is everyone looking at me?_ Squirrel wondered, furtively trying to avoid the pointed glances from all the crewmen. Eventually, the crew responded. Marty first, then Pintel, Ragetti and the other crewmen who had come on the expedition to the island, all raise their arms. Even the monkey, sitting on the railing, lifted his paw into the air. Gibbs merely rolled his eyes and looked out to sea.

Jack smiled and pointed benevolently at his crowd of admirers. "I'm going over there with them," he told Sao Feng.

But Sao Feng had other ideas. He clapped a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder, stopping him from even taking a single step. "I'm sorry, Jack," he murmured, not sorry at all. "But there's an old friend who wants to see you first."

Jack froze under the man's grip. "I'm not sure I can survive any more visits from old friends," he said weakly.

Sao Feng grinned as he led Jack to the railing on the opposite side of the ship. "Here is our chance to find out"

Around the island came a tall proud ship with cloud-white sails. Squirrel hissed in breath through her teeth. She didn't even need the crew's alarmed muttering or the design of the flag to tell her who was aboard that war brig. _Beckett. Lord Cutler Beckett_.

Jack whimpered.

* * *

Beckett's ship - the _Endeavour_ - weighed anchor on the port side of the _Pearl_; Sao Feng's _Empress_ bobbed to the starboard. A longboat took the huddled figure of Jack across the water under heavy guard, while eight other boats crawled across the water towards the _Pearl_, each full of uniformed soldiers. Squirrel rubbed her arms, feeling - not for the first time - trapped. Like her wings were chained, as it had been poetically put not too long ago. 

And there were indeed the sounds of chains. Sao Feng's men were taking no chances with the _Pearl_'s crew. Cold iron bound the wrists of everyone but Will and Elizabeth. And, for the time being, Squirrel herself.

"_Lai, mei-mei_."1 Tai Huang grabbed hold of her forearm; she wrenched herself from his grasp. "_Time to join your friends_."

She glowered at him, but she kept her words light and pleasant. "_Did you forget what I said before_?"

Tai Huang folded his arms, and the men with him chuckled darkly. Squirrel flinched inwardly. There was such a resemblance between Tai Huang and his men to Xin Fu and his thugs. That same leering smile, those same cruel eyes… Why hadn't she seen it before?

_Because I trusted William. I trusted that Will's allies were mine too_.

"_You think I'm afraid of a girl?_" Tai Huang lifted his voice. It wasn't all that necessary. The chained crew of the _Pearl_ were already watching, and watching with wary, incredulous faces. Barbossa's eyes were glittering strangely.

Tai Huang grabbed Squirrel by the wrist. "_Don't be stupid, mei-mei. Come quietly._"

Squirrel twisted her arm free once again, this time using a _tai-qi_ move, and had her dagger out before he'd even time to react. Tai Huang stared down at his crotch, at the way her dagger was only inches from it, a flicker of fear in her eyes. None of his bodyguards even noticed.

"_Do. Not. Test. Me_," Squirrel bit off every word. "_I __will__ kill you_."

The eyes of her friends were relieved. So, Squirrel was fighting after all. Barbossa tilted his head slightly, his face unreadable. Did he believe her? Or was he still suspicious?

"Unwise."

Squirrel felt Sao Feng looming behind her. Her grip on the dagger tightened, but she knew it was a losing fight.

"Very unwise," Sao Feng repeated, his voice cold. "You are outnumbered, for a start. Put it down, _fei ren_. I would hate to spill blood on the deck of such a beautiful ship."

Snarling silently and flushing, Squirrel withdrew her dagger, and slid it back into its sheath.

"_Good girl_," Sao Feng breezed past her, with words that were barely audible. As Tai Huang and his men drew their weapons and held them at the ready, Squirrel followed Sao Feng with her eyes. It was like he didn't even know her. There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in his eyes, not a single sign of familiarity. It was as if she didn't even matter anymore. Small wonder. He'd made his new deal with Will, not her. Squirrel moved a few steps towards the railing and sat heavily down on a crate. The men fanned out, ready to cut her down should she try to make any move. But she wasn't going anywhere. She was on a ship. Where could she go?

Tai Huang smirked. "Not so brave now, are you, _Songshu_?"

Squirrel sneered back. "You called Xin Fu a dog, but you're no different." She glowered at Sao Feng's back. "I wonder where you all learn that from?" She folded her arms and stared off into the distance, ignoring the way Tai Huang's smirk was wiped from his face.

Will walked past, and glanced momentarily at Squirrel. She closed one eye at him, and kept it shut. It wasn't a wink, but a sign of her disapproval. "It had to be done," he said, as thought that would be enough of an apology for the soldiers now climbing aboard, and the swords levelled in Squirrel's direction. She gave him a pained look. It wasn't just that the crew's eyes were on her; Squirrel was just as betrayed as they were.

"You can't trust Sao Feng, William. If he's willing to make a deal with Beckett…"

Will's eyes went flinty, and his mouth pressed into a hard line. "If you don't like what I'm doing," he murmured, his whisper almost lost over the sound of military voices and the sea and the three ships, "Then stop me."

Squirrel said nothing. What could she say? Will stared at her a moment longer, watching her to see if she'd speak, then turned away, stubborn and silent. Squirrel watched him go, then stared at the _Pearl_'s deck. Stop him? It was far too late for that. There hadn't been any other way. Besides, what could she do? She couldn't stop Will.

She was scared of what he might do if she interfered.

"So this," a cold cockney voice said, "Is the _Black Pearl_."

Squirrel looked over, and her eyes widened at the sight of the scarred killer. "You," she murmured, half-rising. Tai Huang gestured with his sword, and Squirrel sat down again. But she kept her eyes on the cold-blooded gentleman who had come aboard with Beckett's marines.

"Yes," Sao Feng said, purring like a contented cat, "A beautiful ship, is it not?"

The scarred man showed no emotion whatsoever. "Any trouble with that lot?" He jerked his head towards the mast, where Barbossa, Tia, and the rest of the crew were chained.

"No, none at all."

The man glanced around the ship as Beckett's men moved into position. "Good." He noticed Will and Elizabeth standing at the prow. "What about them?"

Sao Feng waved a hand, unconcerned. "They'll be no trouble."

_No trouble?_ Squirrel glanced at Will and Elizabeth. _Why are they 'no trouble'?_ Before the thought was even finished in her mind, she knew. That smell was still in the air. The mutiny was far from over. And now everyone was in danger. Even Will. Foolish, naïve, trusting William Turner.

Squirrel felt her blood run cold as the man's eyes turned her way. "An' what about 'er?"

"No-one of consequence, Mercer." He started to stroll easily around the deck, surveying the scene and twisting a strand of his beard between his fingers. Squirrel couldn't decide whether she was relieved or insulted.

The man continued to look at Squirrel with suspicion. She continued to glare at him. So now the killer in gentleman's clothes had a name. Mercer. The name sounded like a knife thrust. Squirrel wasn't surprised. It fitted him well.

More soldiers were coming aboard. Soon, it seemed that the EITC uniforms would outnumber Sao Feng's men. Sao Feng seemed to notice at last, and tilted his head, frowning.

"On your guard, men!" Mercer called. He stood on the foredeck, watching the soldiers come aboard. At least, that was his pretence. Squirrel knew he was studying her out of the corner of his eye.

Sao Feng pushed one of Tai Huang's men aside and planted himself in front of the man. "My men," he hissed, "Are guard enough."

Mercer barely even blinked. "Company ship, Company crew."

Will also had noticed this strange turn of events, and joined the two men, Elizabeth trailing at his heels. "He agreed," Will said, glancing to Sao Feng, then to Mercer, "The _Black Pearl_ was to be mine."

Mercer and Sao Feng shared a smile a moment, then both of them looked to Will. Squirrel felt the back of her neck prickle and knew exactly what was coming next.

"And so it was."

At Sao Feng's words, two Singaporean pirates clapped a hand on each of Will's shoulders, and drove a sudden fist in his gut. Will doubled over, winded. Elizabeth jolted, unsure of whether to protest and defend Will or let matters take their own course. Squirrel had gotten to her feet, hand going to the hilt of her sword, but she sank down again as soon as she had risen. What was the point? The ship was lost. Will was dragged bodily over to where the rest of the crew were, and his hands were chained while he writhed on the deck, gasping for air. Elizabeth was treated with a little more respect, but manacles were still fastened and locked around her wrists.

Squirrel watched the spectacle, waited until it was done. Then she closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and heaved herself to her feet and made her way towards Sao Feng.

Mercer's eyes flickered to her; Barbossa watched her. Both were curious, though for different reasons. Squirrel gave no sign that she knew that their eyes were on her. She just strode forward, ignoring the blades that drew a little closer, ignored Tai Huang's warning snarl. Sao Feng turned to her with a look of amusement on his face. He was clearly expecting her to plead, to try to make a bargain, maybe even to scold him.

Squirrel glowered at Sao Feng a moment longer, then turned her head and spat contemptuously on the deck.

Sao Feng's hand was around her throat before she even had time to blink. Gibbs, Pintel and Cotton's parrot shouted obscenities and threats in Squirrel's defence, all of which Sao Feng ignored.

"Reckless," Sao Feng snarled at Squirrel. "And very unwise."

Squirrel grunted a laugh. "_At least I had the courage to do so. Wouldn't want you to think I'm gou shi dui__2__. Like you are_."

He tightened his grip momentarily. "_Don't make me snap that beautiful neck_." His voice was so calm. So cold. Squirrel forced herself to laugh, trying to pretend she wasn't frightened, but her laughter sounded high-pitched and shaky to her ears. _He could pick me up and throw me. He could choke me to death. He could snap my neck. He could kill me and not even break into a sweat_.

Mercer had watched this strange exchange with arms folded, as though it were nothing more than an amusing pantomime. He stepped forward now, a slight sneer about his scarred face. "Why isn't she tied up with the others?"

"That is a very good question," Sao Feng replied, smiling placidly. He released Squirrel, and made a motion with one finger while Squirrel recovered her wits and her breath. She'd seen it happen with Will, so she knew where to step to avoid their grasp. She pivoted, and ducked backwards under the two men's hands. But just as she was free, she felt a sword prod the small of her back, and froze. Tai Huang chuckled slowly from behind her. The men grabbed her arms, twisting them cruelly as a punishment. Squirrel winced, but didn't give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain.

Sao Feng stepped forward, smiling his cold, cruel smile. Squirrel faced him as boldly as she could. He smiled, slowly, enjoying seeing her struggle, as she had done before.

"Coward," she growled. "_Bu yao lian ni dongxi_!"3

"Careful, _Songshu_." He purred once again. There wasn't desire in his eyes, this time. Just cold cruelty. As though she were naught but an insect to his eyes, nothing more than a minor nuisance. "I know what you fear." He leant to be eye level with her, and cupped her face with one hand. Back in the temple, his hands had made free with her person. His words were like that now, despite his eyes being as cold as steel. "My men have expressed an interest in you," he breathed into her ear, causing Squirrel to tense in indignation and humiliation, "It would be best for you if you held your tongue."

She twisted away from his grip, but Sao Feng just smiled. He watched with distant amusement as Squirrel was hauled across the deck, to be chained with the others.

"… bastard," Squirrel managed at last, her voice hoarse, and bowed her head and shivered.

As the manacles locked closed around her wrists, Squirrel lifted her hands to wipe at the side of her face, as though she could wipe away his words and the crawling of her skin. To the others glancing her way, it seemed like she was disgustedly clawing a kiss from her face. But Elizabeth saw differently. She saw the fear in Squirrel's eyes where the others did not.

She gave Squirrel a questioning look. Squirrel looked away, guilty.

The minutes ticked by, and more soldiers took up places on the _Pearl_. Mercer marched back and forth giving orders. Sao Feng's men were shepherded to the sides, and most were ordered to go back to the _Empress_. The pirates looked around in confusion, unsure of whom to follow: their captain, or the scarred _ang moh_ who commanded many capable soldiers? Tai Huang went to speak his captain, who had been standing at the rail and watching the sea. After a moment, Sao Feng turned with fury across his battle-scarred face. He clamped a hand on Mercer's shoulder and hissed at him.

"Beckett agreed," Sao Feng snarled. "The _Black Pearl_ would be mine!"

Mercer looked back with an expression like a blade. "Lord Beckett's not going to give up the only ship that's can outrun the _Dutchman_, is 'e?" He glared at the hand on his shoulder; Sao Feng withdrew it, teeth bared in helpless rage.

Barbossa smirked and stepped forward, standing in front of Squirrel and Elizabeth to face the Singaporean pirate. "The only way a man can turn profit anymore is by betrayin' other pirates," he said, and, judging from his tone of voice, he was repeating something that had been said before. Sao Feng turned to glare at him.

"We'll never go out of business at this rate," Squirrel muttered. Elizabeth glanced at her, then spared a partially scathing glance for Will, who scuffed his feet on the deck.

"Shame ye're not bound t' honour the Code of the Brethren," Barbossa told Sao Feng carelessly, "Isn't it? Because honour's a hard thing to come by nowadays."

Sao Feng turned and sneered at Barbossa. "There is no honour to remain on the losing side. Leaving it for the winning side? That's just good business." He sounded like he was quoting someone. Squirrel didn't need to even think too hard about whom.

Barbossa smiled, eyes wide and sarcastically doubtful, "The losin' side, ye say?"

Sao Feng pointed, teeth bared again. "They have the _Dutchman_, and now the _Pearl_! And what do the Brethren have?"

It was a rhetorical question. But Barbossa answered nonetheless.

"We have," he burred, "Calypso."

Squirrel went very still; the other crewmen all chained around her did the same thing. Calypso? She felt her usual stab of scepticism before it was swiftly pushed aside. _That was the duty him were charged with… by the goddess, Calypso_. This wasn't just a tale anymore. If the Kraken was real, if Davy Jones was real, if the Locker was real, then why not the sea goddess? Squirrel glanced to her right, where Tia stood chained with the others. Silently, a smirk on her face, she sashayed back behind Gibbs and Ragetti, still able to see what was happening but effectively hidden from sight.

A new theory was spinning in Squirrel's head, but it was too early to see if the threads made any logical pattern. One thing was clear, though: Calypso was a force to be feared. If so many men desired her, then she was powerful indeed.

Sao Feng's eyes wandered over Barbossa's shoulder, and locked on Elizabeth. Squirrel saw the glance, and frowned in concern. Elizabeth squirmed, then held her head high. Will shuffled a little closer to his betrothed, still determined to protect her.

Barbossa saw Sao Feng's eyes, and followed them over his shoulder, he turned slowly back, a strange thoughtful expression on his face as Sao Feng spoke.

"Calypso?" The pirate laughed. "An old legend."

_Liar_, Squirrel read the man easily, _You don't think that. It's what you've wanted all your life, isn't it, Sao Feng?_ Squirrel looked hard at the scarred brute. _You've been looking for Calypso all along_._ The Dragon Lady wasn't her, so you searched elsewhere. The 'woman of the sea', hidden among the virgin, bride and whore. You've always been looking for her. And you think she's here_. Squirrel glanced at Elizabeth, who saw the concern in Squirrel's eyes.

"No," Barbossa corrected with a smile. "The goddess herself in human form."

Another memory: Gibbs' voice from a year ago. _See, the Pelegostas believe Jack to be a god in human form_…

"Imagine all the powers of the sea brought to bear against our enemy. I intend to release her…"

… _and they intend to do him the honour of releasing him from his fleshy prison_.

"But for that, I need the Brethren Court." He took hold of Sao Feng's amulet and shook it slightly. "All the Court." The two men were sharing smiles now. And the smell of betrayal was back in the air.

_Ah_, Squirrel thought, looking at Barbossa with something like distaste. _So that's why you came to free Jack. That's the hidden card of yours. Freeing Calypso_. Her eyes narrowed. _But why would you hide something like that? And what, exactly, do you intend to do with Calypso's power?_

Sao Feng's voice was pleasant. "What are you proposing, Captain?"

Barbossa was just as genial. "What be ye acceptin', Captain?"

Sao Feng's eyes burned with greed and lust. "The girl." Will stepped forward in defence of Elizabeth, leaving Squirrel to stand helplessly. Alone, undefended. But Sao Feng's eyes weren't on her. "That one."

"What?" Elizabeth's eyes went wide.

Squirrel stared, dumbfounded. She'd expected Sao Feng to demand her. After all, he had offered her 'employment'. He'd found her attractive - why didn't he now? Squirrel glanced to Elizabeth, and the answer was as plain as gold. As gold compared to silver; as the sun to the moon. Squirrel had always found it a curse to be plain-looking. Now she saw the advantage of it. Compared to Elizabeth, Squirrel was nothing, and, to top it off, Squirrel had outlived her usefulness, had become nothing more than a chittering rodent. No wonder Sao Feng looked instead with desire at Elizabeth.

Squirrel could have felt relieved, but she didn't.

Will scowled helplessly at the two captains. "Elizabeth is not part of any bargain!"

Barbossa nodded, with faux agreement. "Out of the question."

Sao Feng's eyes went hard, and he glowered severely at Will. "It wasn't a question."

Will stared about him, helpless, then looked to Squirrel. She'd always been able to read his honest eyes. _Help me_, he pleaded, _Do something!_ But she didn't. She couldn't. She was trapped like the rest of them.

"Done."

Everyone - Sao Feng, the crew, Will - looked to Elizabeth in surprise.

"What?" Squirrel gaped.

"Not done!" Will barked

Elizabeth turned fierce eyes in his direction. "You got us into this mess. If this is what gets us out, then," she turned back to Sao Feng, "Done!"

Sao Feng smiled slowly. "So be it."

Will stepped before her, to protect and plead with his fiancée. "Elizabeth, they're pirates."

Once, that statement might have had an effect, might have changed Elizabeth's mind. But now all Will received was anger. "I have had more than enough experiences dealing with pirates," she snarled, and pushed Will away from her. He staggered back, face twisted with angry self-reproach.

"Then," Barbossa leant forward, "We have an accord?"

Squirrel put a hand on Elizabeth's arm. "Please," she whispered, eyes wide with fear. "Don't." She begged with her eyes that Elizabeth would remember the first night in Singapore, the words that had passed between them. _You have pride, Elizabeth, so don't make this choice._ _There has to be another way. Don't do this, please, Elizabeth_. Elizabeth looked disdainfully down at Squirrel, then turned her eyes away. Squirrel was left to shiver where she stood, to watch it all fall apart around her. Helpless once again.

"We do," the golden-haired woman said, her stance proud but a tremble of fear in her voice. She couldn't even look at Sao Feng.

Sao Feng smiled greedily, then turned and called for Tai Huang. Squirrel heard him murmuring instructions to the man, but it sounded so far away. It was a strain just to understand what had transpired. She looked around at the remaining crew, trying to understand, trying to find something, anything… Elizabeth bowed her head, but there her mouth was a determined line despite the fear and pain in her eyes. Will looked fit to die. The rest of the crewmen were murmuring amongst themselves, touched by Elizabeth's sacrifice. But Squirrel just felt sick.

"Sao Feng!"

He turned to look at Squirrel, and raised an eyebrow as she lifted her hands in the position for a Chinese bow.

"Sao Feng… _Ge-ge_," Squirrel appealed, feeling a flush of red shame across her face, "_Bu yao shang hai ta le_." Her voice seemed very small, and she was fighting with a lump in her throat. Her arms were trembling.

Sao Feng smirked to himself. "I didn't hear that, _Songshu_. You'll have to speak louder."

Squirrel grit her teeth, reddening further, and met Sao Feng's arrogant eyes. "_Bu yao shang hai ta le_!" She all but shouted, then she lowered her voice and added, "Please."

A few of the Chinese crewmen looked over, curious. The crew of the _Pearl_ watched, frowning questioningly. Will looked hopeful. Barbossa's eyes narrowed. Elizabeth just stared, frowning slightly, lips slightly parted in surprise. Squirrel couldn't look at any of them.

Sao Feng stood silent a moment, considering. Then, slowly, he smiled. He smiled until his lips revealed his teeth in a savage grin, and he grinned until a harsh, grating laughter started. And his laughter went on and on; Squirrel stared, horrified, knowing she had failed. She glanced at Elizabeth by way of apology. Elizabeth stared back, a strange light of understanding dawning behind her eyes.

Sao Feng's laughter and smile died suddenly. He scowled at Squirrel, and all but spat the words at her. "You have no right to make such a demand of me!" He narrowed his eyes, and changed the language he spoke with, so that only Squirrel understood. "_Unless you want to join her_?"

Squirrel cringed back, fear making her lose her courage once again. Sao Feng chuckled.

The Singaporean pirates began leading half of the chained crew below, while Tai Huang surreptitiously unlocked the chains of those on-deck. Squirrel sighed, and stared at her manacles as the woman next to her was freed, thinking that the sound of chains being unlocked had never been so ominous.

Then Squirrel felt someone rest a hand on her chains, and looked up. Elizabeth had halted in front of her, lips still parted, struggling for words. Squirrel stared back at her, feeling small and unworthy. Finally, with liquid eyes, the golden woman managed a tight, fearful smile.

"At least I have your forgiveness," she murmured, before Sao Feng took her by the arm and led her away.

Squirrel watched her go, watched as Elizabeth was taken to one of the longboats and ferried to the _Empress_ with Sao Feng. Then she turned back and bowed her head, her hair falling forward to mask her face. Her shoulders shook, and her breath came in a shuddering pant. She mastered herself quickly, but she felt a storm building inside her. A maelstrom of emotions that would not be checked.

_At least I have your forgiveness…_

"Don't make me regret this, Mister Turner," Barbossa said, as he unlocked Will's chains. Will just stood, silent and stunned. Squirrel did the same for a moment after Barbossa had freed her, but with a far less pleasant expression on her face. She didn't even listen to the orders Barbossa was giving. With a single mutinous glance at him, she turned and stomped towards the stern, unbuttoning her shirt as she went.

_At least I have your forgiveness…_

Mercer was pleased to see Sao Feng and his men leaving the _Pearl_, pleased to see Sao Feng preferred his life over a fine prize like a ship. He didn't even realise he'd been betrayed until he turned around and saw Squirrel snarling at him, a mad look in her eye.

"'ow the devil did y…" Mercer only had a moment to glance at the deck to see that all of the prisoners were gone before Squirrel leapt at him, dagger drawn and screeching like a banshee, the _Pearl_'s cannons roaring like thunder behind her.

* * *

1 Come, little sister 

2 Dog shit

3 The worst possible insult in Chinese: 'you have no honour and are not even worth calling human'

**A/N**: I think she's snapped. Just a thought. Translation of what Squirrel asked Sao Feng shall follow in one of the later chapters. Second half of this uber-long chapter will follow shortly (and possibly before the next weekend, too!)


	11. Maelstrom

**Disclaimer**: Sri Sumbajee declares this all disclaimer!

**A/N**: We now return with your regularly scheduled program. IE, the other half of the really long chapter.

* * *

Their blades met, clattering and snarling against each other before the two combatants parted, eyeing each other, each searching for a weakness or an opening. Squirrel snarled and swore and leapt at the man again. Mercer raised his blade to fend her off, but she spun her dagger in her hand, pivoted on her foot, and attacked him on his vulnerable left side. He looked impressed for a split-second, before he, too, turned on the spot, his own dagger slicing towards her face. With a screech she dropped down into a crouch, then pushed herself up into the air, back-flipping over the man's head. As soon as she'd landed, she snarled, switched her dagger to her left hand, and raised it to strike him. Mercer moved fluidly; he caught her strike on the hilt of his blade, then grabbed hold of her wrist with his free arm. Trapping her. 

He didn't say a word. Not one word. But he just smiled when he saw the tears in her eyes. He just smiled.

Squirrel screamed at him. She leapt forward, twisting herself backwards so that both feet were slammed against the man's chest. As Mercer staggered in one direction, Squirrel leapt, landed, and rolled to a crouch in the other. She threw her dagger back to her right hand and rose to her feet, ready to leap and strike again.

Mercer set his face, eyes cold, and drew his sword. He was done testing her. He moved so fast - as fast as she did, maybe faster - that she barely had time to brace her feet against the deck before both sword and dagger came down on her. She continued to shout at him, curses that had no context but were foul nonetheless, as she dodged both blades. She wanted to draw her sword too, but the killer left her with no time, no opportunity. So she ran, and leapt, and spun, and stabbed recklessly with her dagger where she could, hoping to wear the man down. She had youth and speed on her side, didn't she?

Squirrel gave a yell as the sword slashed the air before her, and some of her hair drifted free and fell feather-like to the deck. She ducked under his arm, thinking to rise up and pierce his belly with her dagger, but his own dagger was there to protect him. She barely deflected it in time before she had to jump and roll out of the way of his sword.

She rose to her feet, gasping, no breath left for curses, then ran futilely at him again. Mercer's expression never changed. As she raged with her dagger and flailed with her fist, he batted her aside, countering with bare twitches of movement that left her reeling and staggering. It didn't take long for Squirrel to realise she was outmatched, and in more ways than one.

She had a conscience. He was a murderer.

Mercer saw her hesitation and the fear, and he showed some emotion at last. He smiled. He moved swiftly towards her, sword raised and dagger held low. Then he looked over Squirrel's shoulder and jumped back, quickly.

Barbossa charged with a hearty laugh, his sword singing through the air.

Mercer yelled, his sword knocked from his hand and clattering to the deck at Squirrel's feet. Barbossa just laughed, continuing to drive Mercer further back along the prow. The captain wasn't even trying; his blows were careless and casual, and Mercer struggled to defend himself with just his dagger. The man staggered back, back, back, towards the railing of the ship, driven by a nonchalant Barbossa.

The captain drew back his arm, ready to swing; Mercer leapt forward and slashed at Barbossa's free arm. Barbossa gave a surprised shout, and a line of red appeared on his hand. That small window was all the opportunity that Mercer needed. He turned and dived overboard.

Squirrel rushed to the railing, throwing daggers readied in her left hand, watching the water for signs of Mercer's resurfacing. But a hand closed tight around her wrist.

"Leave 'im, angel. No sense in wastin' those. He's already gone."

Squirrel pivoted on her foot, turning sharply and suddenly to the left. Barbossa stared with some measure of surprise at her ferocious face, and at the way the point of her dagger pressed against his vest, but he did not let go of her. They stood, like a pair of dancers caught mid-step, their left arms caught up in the air between them.

She was breathing heavy, and not just from the fight. Barbossa studied her calmly.

"What's this?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

Squirrel gave a hissing growl in reply, and took a step forward.

"Ye really think ye can beat me?" Barbossa asked, as though he were only asking her opinion on the weather. He lifted his sword a little, just to make a point.

"No," Squirrel breathed, "But I can make you bleed." She knew she was too close to him for Barbossa to be able to strike her with his sword. She was, after all, practically wrapped in the man's arms.

Barbossa's blue eyes weren't cold, like she expected them to be. Rather, they were curious. And amused. It infuriated her. "Somethin' the matter, angel?"

Squirrel pressed the point a little harder into his gut, but still not enough to pierce him. "You just let her go! You just let him take her!" Her raging thoughts were just as venomous as her voice. _I thought you were an honourable man! I thought I could trust you!_

"She volunteered, angel." Barbossa gripped her wrist tighter, and twisted. Squirrel grunted in pain, and the throwing daggers fell from her fingers and pierced the deck with three muted thuds.

"Oh, so that makes you innocent, does it?" She growled, still in Barbossa's grip.

He continued to examine her steadily. "And here I thought ye despised Miss Swann."

Squirrel gaped, caught off-guard, and the dagger pulled back an inch. "I…" What a fool she'd been, letting Barbossa read her like that. But he'd seen her, hadn't he? When she'd shouted at Elizabeth on the _Hai Peng_, and perhaps he'd seen through Squirrel's own false smile on the journey to Singapore, as well. Squirrel shook her head slightly, trying to deny it, trying to make it less true.

"Look me in the eye, and call me out as a liar, if ye've got the stones." Barbossa waited a moment. Squirrel held his gaze for as long as she could, then dropped her eyes and stared instead at the medallion he wore around his neck, feeling wretched and sick. Barbossa grunted, satisfied. "I didn't think so. So why the change of heart?"

She looked up and snarled at him. "You could have stopped him! You could have done something!"

"Could I? And why would I want to do that?" He winced slightly as he felt the pressure of the dagger renewed. "Sao Feng was the only one who could help us, and Miss Swann kindly aided us in that regard." He smiled slightly. "And I believe ye didn't answer me question, angel."

Squirrel's heart was pounding in her ears, and she stared with anger and disgust at the man in front of her. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you were spineless enough to let a woman suffer that… to let her be…" Words failed her, and her voice ended hoarsely. She glared at him, with angry tears threatening to spill over. "I didn't expect you to understand."

Barbossa smiled slowly, knowingly. "Is this about Elizabeth Swann, angel, or is it about you?"

Again, Squirrel hesitated. But this time she didn't pull away the dagger. "What are you talking about?" Her voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper.

It didn't matter. Barbossa wasn't even listening. He looked like he was recalling something, a memory from somewhere. After a moment, he lifted his eyes and smiled pityingly at her. "Ah…" He said softly, gently, "So that's why ye never wanted t' be called a whore."

Squirrel started to shake; she couldn't help it, but she couldn't stop, either. Shadows of Tortuga leapt up in her mind, clouding everything, everything. "Sh-sh-shutup!" She shouted, twisting free of Barbossa's grip. "Shutup! You don't know me! You don't know anything!"

The cannons of the _Pearl_ and the _Empress_ roared through the daylight, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood, of men's dying screams and the triumphant laughter of the victors. But Squirrel only heard the laughter of whores and drunkards and street thugs, only smelled spilt rum and piss and smoke and sweat, only saw the crowds of people and the broken plates and the shadowed streets, and the ladders that were her only way to safety.

But as far as she climbed, she couldn't get away from it. The fear clung to her, clawing with clammy hands. Hands like Xin Fu's. Like Sao Feng's. Like her uncle's.

She shuddered and cried, the ropes rough on her palms, as she climbed higher and higher into the rigging. A childhood instinct drove her on. Up was safety. Up was away. The world below was cruel and painful. If she could just get out of their reach she'd be fine. But she was shaking all over, and her breath was coming in pained gasps. She had to stop, suspended from a rope between the _Pearl_'s two masts, the battle raging below her and the cannons booming. It took a moment for her to recover, to remember, to reorient herself.

But she barely had that moment, because something crashed into her and sent her flying. She flailed, and with a split-second to think she caught hold of whatever it was that had struck her. Her senses were reeling, but she knew what she was clinging to was a person; a person swinging swiftly from a rope, but a person nonetheless. She had her arms around their neck. The world blurred past, horribly fast; the sea and the sky and the sight of the three ships swung past her vision so fast she had no idea where was up or where was down or even where she was going. Squirrel buried her head into the chest of whoever she was hanging onto, and tried to fight the dizziness. She felt one arm wrap around her waist, tight and reassuring, and was glad for the support.

For however long it felt to Squirrel to swing aimlessly and dizzyingly through the rigging, it was over in a moment. She felt herself and whoever she clung to soar through the air, and land roughly. She tried to step, and found she was balancing precariously on the headboard above the helm. Behind her was a sheer drop to the sea. To move would be a bad idea. She clung tighter, then it came to her that perhaps she should find out who exactly she was clinging to.

The sight of him seemed to jar harshly against the memories that had assaulted her not a moment ago. She stood there, utterly confused. This made no sense. She stayed up in the rafters, always; he was always on the ground. Always, always, always. Every since she could remember, that was the way it had always been.

Yet here she was, arms around Jack, and Jack's arm around her.

He glanced at her, and winked. Squirrel was too stunned even to blush. Jack looked back, down to the helm wheel, and leaned casually on the lantern. Barbossa and the crew stood, staring incredulously at the sight of Jack standing where he was, holding Squirrel in a cavalier manner, like she was some kind of trophy.

"And that," Jack told them all with a cocky grin, "Was without even a single drop of rum."

Barbossa scowled and muttered, one-upped; he turned away in disgust - and maybe even envy - at Jack's perpetual showmanship. The rest of the crew stared with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Jack just grinned down at them all, as though this were something he had planned all along.

As Jack jumped down, back onto the deck, Squirrel felt her senses and memories reassert themselves. She pulled away from Jack - he didn't notice, as he was pulling in the opposite direction. Will stared stubbornly at him; Jack matched his gaze, darkly, unforgivingly. Pintel and Gibbs clapped a hand on each of Will's shoulders, in much the same way that Sao Feng's men had done before.

Squirrel watched, doing nothing, saying nothing. The maelstrom was still churning away inside her, but since her rage at Mercer and her tears in the rigging, it was shielded from sight. She could have stepped forward, protested, but she didn't She just observed what unfolded, as she'd done since she was a little girl. But this time, she had knowledge of things that a girl in Tortuga could never know. And a new reason to hold back.

Jack showed no pity. "Send this pestilent traitorous cow-hearted yeasty codpiece to the brig."

Will and Jack continued to glower at each other until the former was dragged down the stairs. Jack watched, fingers curling and uncurling, until Will had been thrown roughly below, and was out of sight. Then he smiled, and twirled to face Squirrel with a mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Now that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way…"

"Not quite," Squirrel said coolly, and climbed down the stairs. She hadn't been watching Will's passage. She'd been watching Barbossa. Mastering her emotions, masking them behind a calm face, she crossed the deck and went to stand before him.

Barbossa looked at her curiously - pityingly? - and waited for her to speak first.

"It seems the stories were true, after all. You've given me first-hand proof of that."

"Oh," Barbossa pursed his mouth into an 'o', looking more amused than wounded, "Don't be like that, angel."

Squirrel didn't even move. She just stood, still as stone and face as blank as slate. Barbossa's smile faded slowly, as did the laughter in his eyes. Squirrel was acting in a way he would never have seen before. She'd always been emotional, always let Barbossa see how it was she was feeling, even if it only showed through her eyes. She'd always been honest with him, because she thought she could trust him. No longer.

_They're pirates. Never trust a pirate_.

Squirrel heard footsteps behind her, and knew Jack was listening in. _Good. This is for him to hear, too_. "For a man who wants a second chance," she said steadily, keeping every flicker of emotion hidden, "You're doing a poor job of proving you're worth one."

Barbossa's frown deepened. His eyes flickered to Jack a moment, then back to Squirrel.

"Did you mean anything you said?" Squirrel continued, calmly, "Did you mean anything you told me? About forgiveness, and cost… Did you believe any of it? Or were you just trying to get me on your side?"

"What's going on?" Jack asked, coming to stand to Squirrel's left. "Luv, what's wrong?"

"Leave her be, Jack." Barbossa folded his arms, no longer smiling. "She's mad at the world for the time bein'."

Squirrel slowly closed one eye. "Or at some of the people in it."

The monkey dropped out of the rigging with a chatter, landing on Squirrel's shoulder. He had her three lost throwing daggers with him, and offered them to her. She accepted them in an open palm, her eyes never once leaving Barbossa's.

Jack was frowning thoughtfully, looking between Squirrel and Barbossa. "What you do?" He finally asked, addressing his accusation to the man in black.

Barbossa turned to face Jack, trying not to show how Squirrel's steady gaze was unsettling him. "Miss Swann volunteered herself as an incentive for Sao Feng to change sides. That's how we happened t' get the _Pearl_ back."

"Huh," Jack said, digesting this. He frowned, still thoughtful, then looked to Squirrel. Then he sighed, his lips pulling to one side, as though he were weighing up what he could possibly say. Finally he looked at Barbossa with a slightly disappointed look on his face. "After everything that's happened, Hector, I never thought I'd find myself…" He paused a moment, searching for the word, and then struggling with it, "… Agreein' with you."

Squirrel slowly turned her eyes towards Jack, focusing her silent burning gaze on him instead.

"Why, thankye, Jack." Barbossa burred, smugly.

Jack scowled, almost as an afterthought. "Doesn't mean I like you."

"O' course not. Wouldn't expect ye to."

Jack turned to face Squirrel, and flinched under the intensity of her stare. "What?" He shrugged, palms up. "We got the _Pearl_ back, and we've gotten out of both Beckett's and Sao Feng's reach for the time being. I'd say everything worked out pretty well, wouldn't you?"

"And if Sao Feng had asked for me instead?" She asked, softly, emotionlessly.

Jack's fingers twitched in the air. He remembered - he knew what she was talking about. _What am I worth to you, Jack?_ But he hesitated for only a bare moment, then forced a smile. "Well, he didn't, did he?" He smiled, trying to reassure, wanting her to understand. Barbossa looked archly but understandingly at Squirrel, thinking he'd proven his point. But Squirrel ignored them both.

Everything that had ever transpired seemed to come crashing down on Squirrel in this very moment. The storm inside her was raging, raging, raging. All that had ever been done, or said, everything she'd ever thought or imagined… it was all here. So much at once, threatening to overwhelm her, an ocean of thoughts; she was losing the very ground beneath her feet. But she didn't give a single outward sign of it.

Jack, making a deal with Davy Jones. Elizabeth and Will torn apart on their wedding day. Tia, promising destiny and answers from her self-woven reality. Jack, standing with Davy Jones, agreeing to betray his friend and ninety-nine strangers in order to save his own skin. Norrington, his life destroyed by his own ambition though he refused to admit it. Elizabeth, who came to a liar expecting the truth. Jack, toying with Squirrel's emotions and uncaring about the consequences. Norrington, stealing the heart and running off like a hero. Will, standing his ground and giving the crew courage. Jack, fleeing, and returning only to die. Elizabeth, his murderer, who hid her guilt well. Barbossa, his arrival prompting surprise, fear, suspicion. Will's scars. Sam's pleas. Tia's riddles. Xin Fu's threats. Barbossa's warnings. Sao Feng's manipulations. Jack's return from the dead.

And she, a liar, a thief, a drunkard, a traitor and a mutineer… whose plan for the future was falling to tatters about her as she stood.

_When no-one is innocent_, she thought, grieved and guilty and hate-filled, _Who is the villain?_

_No-one_, she answered herself, _We all are_.

The monkey cooed at her, concerned, playing with the jade ornament that hung from her earring. Continuing to keep her emotions well-masked, she tucked the throwing three daggers back into their slots on her sash. Her eyes never left Jack and Barbossa. She persisted in staring them down. Neither of the captains quite knew how to handle this. Was she angry? Was she about to cry? Didn't she care at all? Neither of them could tell.

Truth be told, she wanted to. Wanted to scream and cry and curse and shout and weep. But she didn't. She didn't even show this in a facial expression. She couldn't.

Something tapped lightly against her hand; she looked down. The silver compass had slipped free from her sash - most likely from the fight with Mercer - and was swinging free at her belt. Squirrel caught it gently, and rubbed her thumb slowly over it, feeling the silver warm to her companionably. She kept the pained ache in her heart from her face, but the thoughts in her head turned swiftly to the one who'd given her the compass. _'To help you find your way', he said. But how am I supposed to find my way now?_ _This choice… I thought it would be hard to decide. As of right now, it's the easiest thing I could ever do. But at the same time… I can't go through with it. I can't_. With all the thoughts roiling and boiling in her mind, it was a wonder she could think at all. She looked up at Barbossa and Jack, saw them watching her curiously. She tucked the compass back safely under her sash, eyes down. _After all that's been done, I can't do what I know I must. I'm such a fool. Such a coward_.

"_At least I have your forgiveness_."

Squirrel turned her eyes away from the men, and looked out to sea. It didn't seem fair that such a horrible, painful day had such a clear sky, such beautiful sunshine. The orange-finned _Empress_ sailed off in one direction; the _Endeavour_ floundered on the open water, its mainmast shattered. The _Black Pearl_ was leaving both of them behind.

_My forgiveness?_ She wondered, watching Sao Feng's ship shrink away into the distance. _Yes. Yes, I have forgiven you, Elizabeth. You weren't to blame, even though I wanted to blame you. I forgive you, Elizabeth Swann. But now I have forgiveness of my own to earn_._ And it won't be easy._

Squirrel closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and let out a slow, heavy sigh. Then, she reached up and lifted the monkey from her shoulder. She set him down on the railing, ignoring its hurt and confused look. Then she faced the two pirates once more.

"It's a sign of a poor captain," she murmured, so low they could barely hear her, "When he loses the favour of his crew." While she spoke, she looked first to Barbossa, then to Jack, whose gaze she held for a moment, then back to Barbossa. Then she turned away, her cloak swishing about her ankles. "I need a drink." She heard Barbossa start to frame a protest, sensed Jack's confusion, but she didn't care. She walked below, silently, still hiding her thoughts and emotions behind a blank face and veiled eyes.

A drink? If there was any rum left on the ship, then yes, she wanted it. She needed it. Everything was churning inside her - all the grief, all the guilt, all the anger, all the confusion, all the love and all the hate. She couldn't stand the way it was curdling inside her, eating her up. She couldn't stand this numb bitterness. She had to let out these feelings somehow. But who was going to help her? No-one. She was alone. She had no choice.

She'd feel better after a cry, she was certain of that. And getting drunk seemed to be the best option. After all, despite moments of fighting spirit or giggling foolishness, she was a crying drunk. She'd sworn never to get drunk again; she'd never broken a promise before. There was a first time for everything.

But getting drunk wouldn't solve anything, she knew that.

With a heavy sigh, Squirrel leaned her head against the mast-pillar, shrouded by the shadows of the _Pearl_'s wooden hull. Slowly, she raised her fists and beat them against the wood above her head, a futile gesture, a pale shadow of the war raging inside her. _I know what has to be done. I know what I have to do. But I can't. I can't do it now. Now that I finally can do it, I can't_. She closed her eyes and looked back through the tempest.

Norrington had stolen what she'd been charged to protect. Barbossa had masqueraded in pretence from the very first day he'd met her. Will had coldly shouldered her aside, turning her away despite all she'd given and all she'd done. Sao Feng deceived her, and had laughed cruelly at her plea. And all of Jack's damn secrets and all of Jack's damn lies remained in him. He hadn't changed at all. Each of these men had hurt her, one way or another. And each had left a scar that Squirrel would bear for the rest of her life. The thought made Squirrel's lips twist bitterly. Was there any man she'd met who hadn't hurt her? For a moment, she almost laughed bitterly.

Then she remembered the shine of silver, and gently pulled the compass from her sash.

Head still resting against the pillar, Squirrel stared down at the small gift she'd been given. It was so small, so simple, and somehow it suddenly meant the world to her. The most precious thing she could ever hope to call her own. And yet the giver of such a gift was lost. Gone forever.

_Séamus Flynn_, she thought, closing her fingers around the compass and pressing it to her lips, _Sam… Where are you?_

"Deh world's not so large dat t'ings lost won't e'er be seen again. Sometimes, all dat needs be is a means to fin' one's weey before you fin' dem again."

Squirrel opened her eyes and lifted her head. Tia stood before her in the shadows, face sober and eyes deep and fathomless. Squirrel didn't realise it, but she still showed nothing on her face, nothing in her eyes. She let the compass drop, and it swung pendulum-like from her belt.

"Tia Dalma," Squirrel said evenly, pushing away from the pillar, and making a small ironic bow. "You'll have to forgive me, madam, but I…" She shook her head a moment, gathering her thoughts. "You're Davy Jones' woman. I don't feel comfortable around you." She was determined, now more than ever, to keep her distance from this woman. If what the storm inside Squirrel showed was true, then Squirrel's life was in danger when she was around Tia Dalma.

Tia tilted her head to the side. "You blame me? For all dat happened?" She seemed curious rather than saddened.

"I'm done blaming people," Squirrel said softly. "I'm no-one's judge anymore. Not with the punishments I deserve. After all, I've my own share of mistakes and sins to atone for." She made to move past the woman, to descend further into the hold in the search of hard liquor. But Tia put up a hand, stopping her.

"Miss Greeh…" She sighed. "What you must know about Davy Jones an' I… P'raps I do deserve blame." Tia's voice cracked slightly. "I love him. I did, an' I do still."

"I know." Squirrel said, looking away into the darkness. "I know. But I told you, Tia. I don't blame you."

"Aye," Tia breathed, like a sorrowful sea breeze, "Love can be is own punishment." She brushed her fingers over the golden locket at her throat.

Squirrel looked at the woman, but didn't speak. _Love can be a punishment? No. I don't think so. Love is many things, but it's not a punishment. Guilt… Now, __that__ is a punishment_. Squirrel sighed, and found her hand straying to the compass once again. Seized by an impulse, Squirrel turned back to look the woman in the eye, her lips framing a question built on frail hope, on the memory of a man's smile. But at the last moment, her courage failed her. She let the compass fall once more from her fingers.

"Tia," she asked instead, "That locket you wear… Where does the song come from?"

The woman stood still a moment, then opened the locket. The slow, sad notes of the lullaby began to play, weaving between the two women gently.

"Is a song of deh sea," Tia whispered. "Is words are long forgot, an' far beyond deh reach of mortal men."

Squirrel closed her eyes and listened. The notes seemed to pierce the maelstrom that raged inside her. The images of hurt and betrayal and pain and tragedy were amplified, but Squirrel's eyes remained dry. There was pain in the song, yes. Such longing and sadness. But it was like Pandora's box - hope still remained within it.

"_There's never been a compass true_," Squirrel sang, "_As my heart, which turns to you. And though the tide takes me away, I'll come for you someday_."

Tia closed the locket slowly, smothering the song, and looked curiously at Squirrel.

"I heard the song in a dream," Squirrel explained, the night rising up in her memory for a moment. "The words just seemed to fall into place."

Tia stared a moment longer, then slowly nodded. "Keep it, den, Miss Greeh. If deh song 'as foun' you, den you can keep it." She looked at Squirrel one last time, eyes just as deep and unreadable as ever. "You, too, know what it mean to love wit' all dat you are, and to hate jus' deh same." Squirrel nodded thoughtfully. After a moment in silence, the two women parted, heading in opposite directions.

Squirrel's path took her deeper below, into the shadows and darkness. There was always rum on the _Pearl_, even if it was deep in the hold, hidden from sight. Squirrel had been the quartermaster, after all. She knew where everything was. Even Jack's hidden stash, which she had always tactfully kept from her notes. If there was rum to be found, then she would find it.

And then she could drink away the pain and cry out the emotions bottled inside her.

She descended, further and further. She passed the pens, past the hammocks of the crewmen, down past the ammonia stink of animal piss, and still further. The stairs took her deeper and deeper, and she couldn't help but remember taking such a path on the _Diana_. Night after night, slipping away to go down to the hold. This was different, somehow, but still exactly the same.

Squirrel stepped down, the final step, and looked around. Somewhere down here was a bottle or two, for certain. Not enough to get her drunk, given how she'd been able to build up her tolerance for the stuff, but it would do. She began to head towards the barrels and crates, intending to search them all, when a slow movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

The door was open.

Squirrel looked at it, curious and somewhat suspicious. The door led to a section of the hold none but Jack himself had the keys for. He was always so fastidious about that fact. No-one but he, and he kept the keys with him, or in his cabin, at all times. He didn't trust anyone else with them. So why would the door be open, if Jack always kept it locked?

_Ease of access_, Squirrel thought in a moment of sardonic ill-humour. _One hundred days in the Locker, all by himself? He wasn't about to keep locking and unlocking that door_. She moved towards it, thinking to find what she sought inside.

But as soon as she opened the door, she halted, and stared.

The maelstrom still curdled inside her, memories still raged and feelings still battled for control. But it was though Squirrel had found a means to curb and control such a storm, to turn it to a far better purpose. All that had transpired, good or bad, had happened for a reason. The damage, the pain, the betrayal couldn't be undone. But certainly, Squirrel knew, that there was still a chance to make things right. And, perhaps, her choice wouldn't be so hard to make after all.

This was better than rum. Much better.

Squirrel picked the keys off the nail from where they were hanging, studied them a moment, then let her lips curve into a sad and bitter smile.

* * *

**A/N**: Foreshadows! Also, dun-dun-dun! 

I just happened to hear MCR's Famous Last Words on the plane coming home from Canada. I think it fits nicely how the next couple of chapters will feel. I'm not a fan of My Chemical Romance, but hey.

I can has reviews please?


	12. Square

**Disclaimer**: Here's a little disclaimer for you, Beckett.

**A/N**: I apologise for the long and horrible break. I was eaten alive by the Kraken (known as '_university stress and a part-time job_' to the Scandinavians). Not to mention this is probably the hardest chapter I've ever written. So. Much. TROUBLE. To write. I apologise, and I hope you find it worth the wait.

* * *

Squirrel rapped her knuckles against the wood, and waited. She didn't have to wait long. 

"Well, hello." Jack leant against the doorframe, smiling teasingly. "What brings you to my door?"

"Dinner," Squirrel said, roughly proffering a bowl of stew at him. "Captain always eats first. That's the rules."

"Bit early for dinner, innit?" Jack examined the stew for a moment, eyebrow raised, then looked back at Squirrel, cautious and wary. "What about Hector? Where's his din-dins?"

Squirrel took a breath and slowly let it out before she spoke. "Barbossa decided to eat with the crew tonight. That's why I'm here." She'd even pushed past the man without even so much of a by-your-leave, ignoring his wry smile.

"Ah." Jack smiled, "You'd rather spend your precious time with Captain Jack Sparrow than Barbossa, is it?"

"No. I've already eaten." She kept her face blank as she proffered the bowl again. "I'm just here to give you this."

Jack looked down at the bowl of stew again, then back to Squirrel. Then he smiled, and stepped to one side, holding the door to his cabin open for her. "Come on in, then," Jack purred.

Squirrel stood woodenly in the doorway, still holding out the bowl. Jack stepped a little further back, and made a short beckoning gesture. He grinned at the stubborn, sullen look on her face. Squirrel managed to hold herself in place for a moment longer, then realised she was left with no choice, and sighed and pushed past him.

_Every bloody time_, she thought darkly, exasperated with herself.

The warmth of candlelight, the dancing shadows and the romantic light enveloped her immediately, but she gained no comfort from them. The familiarity of the room did nothing for her nerves, either. She set the bowl and the spoon down amongst the clutter on the table, then turned, intending to walk right on out again. But, as she'd expected, Jack had shut the door, and was leaning against it. Squirrel couldn't decide if it was an easy battle or a hard one not to be touched by his impish smile, by the mischief in his eyes.

_Remember what you have to do tonight. Remember what you've planned_.

"You'd better eat it before it gets cold," she told him.

Jack smirked, still leaning against the door. "Keep talking like that, luv, and it'll be cold in no time."

Squirrel pressed her lips together and folded her arms.

Jack's smile faded slightly, but still played about his lips. "You went down below for a drink not long ago. How was the rum, then?"

"I couldn't find any," Squirrel answered. And it was the truth.

He nodded, sympathetically. "That's a pity. But!" He held up one finger, emphasising his point, "I happen to know a way to rectify that." Jack sauntered away from the door, going to one of the sets of drawers. He opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a bottle. He waved it at her, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Squirrel glanced at the table, and saw two goblets - fine silver, from the look of them - already set out. _He knew I was coming_, she thought, with dull surprise. _Am I really that predictable? Or were they already out, and just perfect for the situation?_ She glanced back at him._ With Jack, it's always hard to tell_.

"Can I tempt you?" Jack asked, coming to stand beside her.

She heard the metaphor and frowned at it. "Not at the moment, no."

He pulled a face at her as he pulled both goblets closer to him. "You have 'duties' elsewhere, do you?"

"I might."

He pulled another face, no less expressive than the first. "You're a little stroppy tonight."

"I thought you wanted a fight with me, Jack. You said as much. Well, here's your chance: I'm in a fighting mood, after all."

Jack had opened the bottle and lifted up to pour. But at Squirrel's words he stopped, sighed, then lowered the bottle, setting it down on the table, leaving the two goblets dry. "Alright, luv, that's enough." He turned to her, his eyes serious. "You're not mad at me, and you know it. It's Barbossa you've got a fight with, not me."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, "Really? And how would you know how I feel, Jack?"

He frowned slightly. "I thought we had everything sorted out earlier."

"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind," she told him, archly.

Jack looked steadily back at her. "What's this about, luv? And I mean, what is this _really_ about?"

Squirrel tossed her head and stared at the opposite wall, her arms still folded. "I think you know."

Jack rested one hand on the table in front of him and leaned his weight on it. "Enlighten me, luv, because at the moment I'm still in the dark as to why you're like this." He held up his free hand, and examined the rings on his fingers. "As far as I can see, you're only mad at me because you're mad at Barbossa. I just happen to be in the way."

Squirrel closed one eye and turned to face him. "So, you're saying I shouldn't blame you," she asked, coolly, "Despite the fact you're _both_ to blame?"

"Barbossa's the one who did the negotiations, luv. I wasn't even there. Why don't you go yell at _him_ for a while, ey?"

"You could have done something," she said, words bitter. "This is the fastest ship in the Caribbean. You could have gone after Sao Feng, gotten Elizabeth back."

Jack looked at her lazily, but there was a warning in his eyes. "And why would I have done that?" He didn't need to say it. The cold look in his eye was explanation enough. _Elizabeth killed me_. It hadn't been a factor Squirrel considered, given her temper. Now she realised, and set her mouth in a thin line. "I'm not a bally hero," Jack continued, "Like some people. I'm just a humble gentleman of fortune." He smiled with his teeth, but not his eyes. "Or, as some would say, a pirate."

Squirrel ignored the warning. "So, that's it then? You're happy just leaving her?" She bunched both hands into fists, and raised them as though about to start throwing punches. "Just proves that if he'd taken me, you'd feel exactly the same." She sneered. "You wouldn't bother coming after me, would you, _pirate_?"

"What makes you think that?" His eyes were half lidded, but still very alert.

"Because you haven't changed at all!" Her anger burst out of her, all at once. "You keep your secrets and you tell your lies and you manipulate people into doing what you want! We don't mean anything to you! Anything at all! The only reason you let us stay is because we're _useful_!" Squirrel wished Jack had given her a goblet of rum, just so she could throw it at him, or dash it to the floor. As it was, her voice alone couldn't fully express her anger. "And the moment you don't need us any more, you just throw us away! We don't mean anything to you, Jack! None of us." She caught her breath, then continued her tirade. "So you don't care what _happens_ to any of us, Jack. All you care about is your bloody self. And your bloody _freedom_." She spat it like it was a curse word. And why shouldn't it be? So much misery had been wrought in the name of Jack's precious freedom. "You wanted me to give you a second chance? Well, why should I? You're the most manipulative, underhanded, backstabbing, black-hearted piece of gutter trash I have ever come across in my entire life, and I lived in bloody _Tortuga_!" Squirrel stood, panting a moment, then gathered herself for one last attack. "I can't believe I ever trusted you," she breathed. "I hate you."

Jack hadn't moved once during the entirety of Squirrel's outburst. He didn't move when she finished, panting, her eyes daring him to speak. Not even a flicker of his limp-wristed hands, a tilt of the head, or even a characteristic drunken sway on the spot. He kept his eyes on Squirrel. Utterly silent and utterly still.

It occurred to Squirrel then that Jack never got angry. It had almost happened once. Almost. The simple fact that she'd hidden back the location of Isla Cruces had made him, for a moment, clench a fist. But Jack never lost his temper. For everything that he was - and everything that he wasn't - he had remarkable self-control. But had she succeeded in provoking him now? It seemed so. But if that was the case, then what would that mean? Squirrel stared Jack down, feeling something stirring in her. She was afraid, certainly. Afraid of what he might do now that she'd provoked him to this point. But if he hurt her, with words or a blow, it would only make things easier. Not that she hadn't already decided, of course, but it would certainly have made it easier. Easier to do what she had to, without feeling the need to look over her shoulder, that broken heart of hers weeping in her chest. _Hit me, Jack. Yell at me. Hate me back._ Unconsciously, she braced herself, preparing for the worst; she met Jack's blank gaze unflinchingly.

"Kiss me."

He might have well have hit her, given how unexpected his words here. Squirrel staggered back, wide-eyed and reeling.

"Kiss me," Jack repeated, leaving the distance between them for a moment. "Prove what you say is the truth. Kiss me." He slid forward with feline grace, and inclined his head towards her. "Go on."

For a long moment, Squirrel just gaped at him. Her breath wasn't coming as easily as it had been, and her face was on fire. And her heart was thundering like it was fit to burst. Or break.

"Well?" Jack prompted, the faintest beginnings of a smile returning. "Come on, luv. Words aren't everything." He scratched his chin in an exaggerated - and somewhat suggestive - manner. "Prove what you say is true. Maybe I'll believe you hate me… if you can kiss me."

Squirrel stared at him a moment, mind still lurching, then angrily shook her head. "No, Jack. The point is I _don't_ love you anymore." If she could find the strength or the will to back out of his reach, maybe her words might have been more believable.

"Prove it." He was grinning now. "If you kiss me, you shouldn't feel nothin', aye? 'S just a kiss, luv." His eyes were bright and roguish. "Doesn't mean anything."

She still had some temper left in her. "Maybe not to someone like you," she barked. "But it matters to me."

"Someone like me?" He smiled, shaking his head slightly so the beads clattered and chirped. "Luv, you're jusr as much of a pirate as I am."

She pursed her lips sourly. "I am not." But the moment she'd said the words she halted, hesitated, looked down at her shoes. Of course she was. After all she'd done, of course she was. She was as bad as he was. If not worse.

"Ah," Jack purred. He hitched his thumbs into his belt and swayed back and forth on the spot, triumphant and smug, "So you _do _love me then."

"No, I _don't_!" Squirrel protested, and took a step backwards, towards the door.

But Jack stepped twice, moving around her to block her path. "Then kiss me," he grinned, "And prove it."

Squirrel stared, feeling pinioned like never before. She bared her teeth as she struggled with her thoughts, eyes flickering back and forth, anywhere but his golden teeth and his sparkling eyes and his rugged, tattered-around-the-edges, salt-roughened good looks… But even if she didn't look at him, he was there. She could feel him, sense him, smell him, taste him… If she kissed him, she would be reminded that yes, she still loved him. Loved him just as much as she hated him, perhaps even more so. But if she _didn't_ kiss him, then it would prove she still loved him, loved him just as she'd always done. Either way, she was still in love. And Jack knew it. He'd _known_; he always had. Squirrel closed her eyes for a moment, realising she'd been had. Once again, Jack had beaten her at her own game.

"…you son-of-a-bitch."

"Damned if you do, and damned if you don't, luv." Jack smirked, then changed his expression to something far more endearing. "It's just a kiss. No big deal, aye?"

She stared at him, incredulous. "Of _course_ it's a big deal, Jack!" She flushed hotly.

"Only 'cause you're being silly." He smiled at the frustrated, confused expression on her face.

She tried to fight. "Oh, so there's nothing on earth that could convince you that I don't love you anymore?"

But he just smiled placidly, smugly. "Nope. Just this. So, you goin' to kiss me, or what?"

Squirrel stared woodenly at the wall, unmoving. A long moment passed in silence, where neither of them moved.

Then Jack grinned. "I knew it," he crowed, shaking a finger under her nose triumphantly before heading back towards the table. "I knew it!" He chuckled to himself as he poured a generous amount of rum into one of the goblets. "Can't fool me, darlin'. And you certainly can't fool yourself, neither."

Squirrel felt disgusted at herself, at how easily she'd let herself be played. She let her fingers stray to her belt, to the compass that hung there. Distractedly, she caught it in her hand and smoothed her thumb over the silver.

Jack glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Don't feel so bad," he said, nonchalantly, "I really can't say I blame you." He drained the whole goblet in one swig, and noisily smacked his lips. "After all," he turned back, leaning on the table, and drawled, "There's not a woman alive who can resist the charm of Captain Jack Sparrow." With his hips swayed out, the goblet held evocatively in one hand, his head at that jaunty angle, the pose he was in might have been suggestive had it not been utterly ridiculous.

Squirrel looked at him coolly, the compass still in her hand. "I doubt that."

"Mmm-hmm?" Jack smiled, raising an eyebrow.

Squirrel sighed, exasperated. Dropping the compass to let it swing free, she folded her arms and looked pointedly at the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack look with suspicious alertness at the shine of silver.

"Now, that's a pretty thing." He motioned vaguely towards the compass. "Where'd you pick that up?"

Squirrel dropped one arm, her hand hovering over it protectively. "It was a gift."

Jack pursed his lips, a little sourly. "Hector's generous, ain't he."

"If it was from Barbossa," Squirrel said evenly, "I would have thrown it overboard by now."

"Mmm." Jack nodded thoughtfully, as though it were a fair enough reaction, "Just like you did that coin you used to wear?"

Squirrel's hand went guiltily to the stones around her neck. "What? No, I still have that. I just…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I just don't wear it anymore." She fingered one of the diamond points, then dropped her hand back down to her compass.

"I thought that coin was important to you, luv," Jack said, his eyes dark and curious. "Why'd you stop wearin' it?" She didn't have an answer to give him. Jack seemed to understand, though how he could understand was a mystery. He tilted his head, and glanced again to the compass. "So, who's that from, then?"

"It doesn't matter," Squirrel's voice was low and her eyes were down, "He's long gone now."

Jack's eyes darkened slightly. "He?"

"Just one of the sailors who got us around Cape Horn." Squirrel tucked it back under her sash.

He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a story you'll have to tell me sometime." He lowered his chin slightly. "If you can put up with my presence, that is."

Squirrel lifted her eyes, and picked up the conversation from where it had been dropped. "I still stand by what I said, Jack," she said, voice low. "You don't care about us. It doesn't matter how I feel about you." She looked hard at him. "It doesn't matter, because you don't care about me."

Jack slouched himself out of the pose and swayed a few steps towards her. "Not true, luv. Very not true."

"Prove me wrong," she challenged him. "Name one instance where you've put our lives ahead of your own."

"Wait a minute," one of his fingers on the hand that held the goblet pointed into the air, "You're cheating. First of all you say that you yourself don't mean anything, and then you say that you, plural, don't mean anything." He smiled. "Which one is it, luv? Which one is it that troubles you?"

He was riling her up again, and she didn't care. "What, the fact you don't care about anyone? Or the fact that you don't care about me?"

"I didn't say I…"

"Both." She cut him off before he said what she knew would change her mind. "Both. As I said already, Jack. If you don't care about anyone, why should I be the exception to your dubious little rule?" She folded her arms. "Also, I don't cheat. I don't need to. Unlike some."

Jack sighed heavily, and set his empty goblet down on the table, next to the bottle. "Luv, if we're going to have these conversations every time something happens that you don't agree with, nothing is ever going to get done." He paused, both hands limp in the air, then amended, "Not to mention my nerves'll be shot to pieces. Definitely not a good thing."

"I'm sorry my conscience is such a burden to you."

Jack tilted his head and looked at her. "You really want me to answer your question?" He asked, in all seriousness. "Honestly?"

Squirrel looked away a moment. She still had a plan, still had a burden on her heart that needed to be lifted one way or another. An answer from Jack - any answer - would throw what was left of her world into utter chaos. Not that it wasn't already. She had her promises to keep, regardless of what was done. "No," Squirrel muttered, hunching her shoulders defensively for a moment, "Not really."

"You are a right puzzle, you are," Jack smiled. "Why ask if you don't want to hear the answers?"

Squirrel was silent a moment, then faced him plainly. "Because sometimes its better that way." She smiled a little bitterly. "Better to die knowing the truth then to spend the rest of your life not knowing."

Something of the struggle inside her must have showed in her eyes, because Jack's smile slowly faded away. He left the table, coming to her side, and reached out to brush her cheek with his fingers. She flinched and stepped out of his reach, and his hand dropped away. A tense silence stretched between them, a long, long while.

Finally, Jack turned away, looking towards the door, his hands flicking and teasing at the air like anemone tendrils. "I don't know, luv," he said, voice low. "You want the truth? I honestly don't know. There. That's my answer. Does that make you happy?"

"Not really." He was lying. Plain as day, he was lying.

Jack grunted. "Didn't think so." But he was smiling. "It's the only answer you're getting from me, though."

Squirrel rolled her eyes. "I thought as much." _Typical. You can't even tell the truth, even when it's all I ask. You're a man of too many secrets, Jack Sparrow_. She sighed. "You haven't changed at all."

Jack pulled at his beard, looking sage. "And you don't find that endearing? Because I think it's my greatest quality." He paused a moment, frowning as though remembering something, then smiled pleasantly. "Oh, yes. Of course. Black-hearted piece of gutter trash. Slimy hide." He pursed his lips, then shook his head, amused. "Luv, are you ever going to be happy with the way things are?"

She frowned. "The way things are?" She threw her hands in the air. "Jack, you're a liar and a scoundrel and a cad and…" Words failed her. "How can I _possibly_ be happy with that?"

Jack grinned suddenly. "I think I hear you saying you want to kiss me, darlin'. Am I right?" He curled the edges of his moustache, waggling his eyebrows. "If that's what you're sayin', then I'm not going t' be arguing with you a minute longer." He puckered his lips and leant forward, looking for all the world like a bizarre fish.

Squirrel reddened, and tried to hide it by snorting and looking aside. "Pathetic," she muttered.

Jack looked hurt. "Come on, luv. I'm doing my best here. You have to admit it, though - I am making you all squirmy inside, ain't I?"

Squirrel shook her head, a little more than necessary. "No."

"Now who's the liar?" He just grinned at her scathing look, at the way she turned red.

Squirrel looked towards the door, trying to steer the conversation - such as it was - back on course. "So, we're _not_ going back for Elizabeth."

"Sao Feng's meeting us at Shipwreck Cove," Jack shrugged, seriousness again as he turned away. He couldn't look her in the eye. "We'll pick her up there."

"Generous of you," Squirrel closed one eye again as she glowered at the back of his head, adding with some measure of bitterness, "_Captain_."

Jack turned back, weathering her one-eyed glare with a raised eyebrow. "Why's it such a big deal, luv? Aside from the fact you're pissed off at how I'm such a black-hearted cad." He gestured vaguely at her, hands fluttering. "Barbossa told me you hated Lizzie for a while, on your way here. Why the change of heart?"

For a moment, Squirrel felt a piercing stab of anger and betrayal. All of sudden Jack and Barbossa were on speaking terms with each other? A slow creeping feeling of grief and regret quickly smothered that, along with the memory of Elizabeth's forced brave smile.

"She forgave me," Squirrel said, voice trembling slightly. Now she was the one who had to look away. "I don't deserve to be forgiven."

He could have smiled, could have deflected her words with a joke or a smile or a touch. But he didn't. "Don't deserve to be forgiven? Why not?"

Squirrel stared down at her shoes, hands clenching and unclenching. She took a long breath in, let it out heavily. How was she supposed to put this in words? How was she supposed to convey the pain she'd suffered, the hurt she'd nursed, the plans she'd laid, the treachery she planned, and the tatters of her whole life? How could she? She couldn't. Plain and simple, she couldn't. Just as she couldn't go through with the decision she'd made, she couldn't even tell Jack the weight that was on her heart. Guilt and irresolution were building a strong wall together.

"I don't deserve it," she said simply. "That's all." She turned her back on him and went to the door.

"Luv…"

"Jack," she looked back, saw him hovering, poised to come to her side, "Don't." She looked back to the door, tracing the whorls in the wood with her eyes. She remembered, clear as the sight of the moon, the day that she'd been pressed up against this door, Jack's body warm and close, his hands sure and his touch welcomed. The memory of the warmth wasn't enough to melt the chill in her, but it was enough to sting her eyes.

"Don't what?" Jack asked gently, crossing the floor slowly.

Squirrel turned back to face him, and the look in her eyes stopped him dead. After a long moment, she looked away again, and curled her fingers around the doorhandle. She set her shoulders slightly, though she didn't realise it; she grew a little taller just from that. And even though she was biting her lip with indecision, her eyes were strong and sure.

He must have seen the change in her, he must have finally realised, because he stopped where he was. "Luv," he murmured, surprised, "You got your memories back, didn't you?"

Squirrel didn't move a moment, then slowly nodded. Slowly. "Yes," she murmured.

It was strange, somehow, that after all she'd tried and strained and cried herself to sleep over it, that her memories would just come back without ceremony, and of their own accord. It had been as simple as blinking, as easy as breathing. The darkness of the hold had hidden her from sight as she sobbed to herself, and explored the long-forgotten recesses of her mind. One moment there was nothing beyond the kitchens of her uncle's tavern, and the next… she could remember the first time she ever tasted an orange. She could remember the smell of her mother's hair. She could remember the way her father's hand closed over hers. She could remember the face of Charity, the only whore on Tortuga who wasn't cruel or unkind to the stammering girl. She could remember her first stuffed animal, a raggedly-stitched bear called Old Ben. None of the memories were crystal clear, but they were all as they should be. Memories. No longer shreds and faint whispers, but the comforting warmth in the back of her mind. As though they'd never been gone. As though they were just waiting for her to find them again.

And yet to find them, there had been such a terrible price.

Jack grinned from ear to ear and gave a loud laugh. "Luv, that's wonderful! That's great news!" He saw the look on her face, her downcast eyes, and hesitated. "Isn't it? I mean, it's what you wanted, right?" When she didn't react, Jack's brow furrowed. After a moment, he stepped back slightly, his hands curling expressively while his face stayed blank. "What about your name?"

She shook her head vaguely. In her memories, lips moved and tongues flickered, but all she heard was the whisper of distant waves. Her name was still lost. It seemed unfair, really, that after all this that her name should be the one thing that she still couldn't claim. It spoiled the memories she'd gained, made her ungrateful.

Jack sighed, then shrugged. "Ah, well. That'll come sooner or later, luv, don't you worry." He smiled, all warmth and charm. "As soon as you find it, you let me know. Wouldn't mind being the first one to say it." Then he suddenly looked awkward, and shrugged and looked away as though it were no big deal.

Squirrel tightened her grip on the doorhandle. "Jack," she said softly, and waited until he looked back to her. Her voice was calm and steady. It didn't seem right, not with what she about to say. "You know what I realised, Jack? After all this time, after getting my memories back, you know what I realised?" She looked at him. "I realised that I don't owe you anything."

Jack smiled, uncertainly. That smile slowly faded into confusion. "Luv, what are you… What do you mean?"

"I don't owe you anything, and you don't owe me anything." Her voice was so faint, it was as though she wasn't speaking at all. Yet her words were the loudest thing in this room, second only to the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. "Everything considered, I'd say we were square." She took a steadying breath. "I took a bullet for you. You didn't let me drown. I joined your crew. You let me stay. I was burned. You died." She closed her eyes a moment. "You got me out of Tortuga. I got you out of the Locker." She lifted her head. The look in Jack's eyes was so hurt and confused, she couldn't bear to look straight at him. "Everything's square," she said, looking down at the doorhandle. "You owe me nothing; I owe you nothing. It's done."

Jack stood a moment in silence. Then, in a voice weak and faint, he echoed, "Done?" He shook his head, confused, but his eyes never left hers. "What do you mean, 'done'?" Squirrel didn't have an answer to give him. She couldn't even speak.

The candles flickered; one of them died in a plume of silent wafting smoke. The timbers creaked as the _Pearl_ sailed on through the night. The sea whispered from on the other side of the door, and the sea breeze sighed through the cracks in the timbers.

"Goodbye, Jack," Squirrel whispered. She left his cabin as silent as a shadow.

* * *

**A/N**: I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I am able. 


	13. Free

**Disclaimer**: Do you take disclaimer in your tea?

**A/N**: I seem to be able to update on time today. Let's see if that continues in the coming weeks. Reviews make me happy.

* * *

_Goodbye… Why did I say goodbye?_

Squirrel bit her lip as she walked, ducking under the beams of the hold. Her heart had been beating like this - loud and pounding - since she closed the door of Jack's cabin behind her and walked slowly away. It had been at least ten minutes, but Squirrel was still puzzling, still anguished, over what she had said.

_I meant to say 'goodnight'_, she thought, _I didn't mean to say 'goodbye'. Didn't I? _That thought rolled around in her head, dominating all the other thoughts that vainly tried to speak to her. _Why did I say goodbye? I didn't mean it. … Did I? _

There were footsteps up ahead; Squirrel jumped and quickly slid out of sight, watching fearfully from the shadows and from under her hood. Pintel was jogging down the stairs, chuckling to himself at something he had cupped in his hands. Too caught up in his precious find, Pintel didn't see the cloaked form of Squirrel, and so passed right by her. Squirrel caught the glimpse of silver as he sauntered towards the bunks.

_No doubt he peeled that from one of the marines_, she thought with a frown. _How distasteful_. _Stealing from the dead. _And then on the heels of that thought was yet another stab of guilt. Hadn't she done the same? Taking a coat from a man she could have saved, but let die? _You have no right to judge. You're just as bad as he is. Worse, even_.

Squirrel waited in the shadows, holding her breath, until she was sure Pintel was gone. Only then did she come out from her hiding place, and continue on. She jumped guiltily at every noise, and felt eyes on her back even though there was no-one watching. Every creak in the ship's timbers seemed to be reproachful: _where are you going? What are you doing?_ Squirrel descended down the stairs, further and further down into the darkness, looking over her shoulder with every step. No-one seemed to have followed her. No-one seemed to know she was down here. But her nerves were electric and alert; her conscience prodding her with sharp repetitive stabs. She shouldn't be down here. She shouldn't be doing this.

But this would end on her terms, and no-one else's.

There were times when it was easy to forget that the _Pearl_ was more than just a pirate ship. Despite the clean lines of the timber and the rigging, and the way it seemed to sing through the water, Squirrel had learned a little of the ship's dark history, some of it from the stories of Gibbs and Ana and the like, some from the unconscious feelings she felt when down here alone. The patched-over holes on the lower levels showed where slave manacles had once been fastened to the hull. The shadows sometimes seemed to move with suggestions of hopeless despair. And then, in the brig itself, the wrought-iron cages. Supposedly, they were used to secure the more fragile cargo. Or the baggage no-one trusted to be anywhere else.

The _Pearl_ had a dark history, for certain. But could it really be said that she'd left that past behind, now that she flew pirate colours?

He was slumped against the bars of the cell, his arms hanging limp through the metal. He looked up as she walked towards him, sour and reproachful. "You certainly took your time, Miss Grey. I was wondering when you'd get here."

Squirrel glanced over her shoulder even as she walked towards him. "I'm sorry, Mister Turner…" She glanced again, "That I needed time to think over what needed to be done." She looked at him, trying to keep the truth from her eyes, trying to sound pleasant and conversational. "I'm surprised you haven't broken yourself out already. Jack told me about your trick with the half-barrel pinned…"

"Half-pinned barrel hinges," Will corrected, impatiently.

She took the correction in her stride. "Yes, that. I was half expecting the cell to be empty."

"Oh? Really?" He gestured with one hand towards the hinges. "And, how, exactly?"

Sometime around Spain, Jack had suddenly ordered for sheets of metal to be nailed and fixed over the hinges. Jack's order hadn't made sense to Squirrel at the time. It still didn't, in a way; she didn't know what, exactly, Will's 'trick' was. But she gathered that this preventative measure was the only reason Will remained locked in his cell. If there was one thing to be said about Jack Sparrow, he didn't give second chances to those who'd wronged him.

The thought wasn't encouraging to Squirrel.

She looked down at the plate of stew in her hands. "I brought you dinner. Here. You need your strength." Was that the sound of the timbers creaking, or was someone listening in? She couldn't be sure, and she certainly couldn't go and check without seeming suspicious. Especially if there really was someone there.

"I thought you were down here to get me out." Will said, placid-faced but for his narrowed eyes. "Or are you not in a 'helping kind of mood' this evening?"

Squirrel lowered her head slightly, letting the hood shadow her face. "I told you, William." Her tongue flickered over her lips. "The least you could have done was tell me what you were planning. I would have helped you, and you know it." She was whispering, her voice barely even a breath. "Instead, you decided to do this alone, and now the whole ship's against you."

"Even you?" Will asked.

Squirrel flinched.

"Where are the keys?" He waited, in silence, ignoring both the proffered dish and Squirrel's imploring expression. Eventually, he pulled his hands back through the bars, and started pacing back and forth.

"Please, William," Squirrel glanced over her shoulder again, "Eat this. For your sake, please."

"I'm not hungry." He said bitterly, continuing to pace.

"William…"

"You've been talking to Jack. I can see it on your face." Will stood, silent a moment. "You're not going to help me." He sounded resigned, bitter, but not as though it were something unexpected.

Squirrel shrank further under the comfort of her cloak, but still held out the dish. "William, please. The food…"

"You didn't come to get me out, did you?" He accused, eyes blazing.

"I'm part of this crew, William," she defended herself, as he continued to stalk back and forth. "I have to follow the rules." She looked away as she spoke, though. She wasn't honest enough to even meet his eyes.

Will snorted. "So. Your promise amounts to nothing, then." He resumed his pacing. "And here I thought your word was your bond."

Squirrel balled her free hand into a fist. "How dare you," she murmured, fighting to keep her voice low. "You have no idea what I'm risking." She looked back over her shoulder once more, then back to Will. "I'm down here, talking to a traitor." That earned a snort and a scathing look from him. She ignored it. "If someone sees me, I could get locked up, same as you. The least you could do is eat the food I've gone to the trouble of making." There was an insistence in her voice as she said that last sentence she didn't bother to hide.

But Will ignored her, continuing to pace, his head down and his eyes dark.

Squirrel watched him a moment, then murmured. "I'm more useful to you on this side of the bars."

"I find that rather hard to believe at the moment." He looked to her. "You promised to help me. So make good on your word." When she didn't move, all his sympathy vanished. He scowled at her, then turned away in disgust and resumed his pacing. "My congratulations, Jack Sparrow," he muttered, glancing to the timbers above his head. "You've ruined everything."

Squirrel saw herself in the cage for a moment, accusing others of crimes that they were not guilty of. Will was hurt, and he was lashing out at her, just for comfort's sake. He wanted someone to hate, just to take the guilt away. So he hated both her and Jack, and soon would move on to anyone else he could think of. She didn't blame him for that. After all, hadn't she done the same?

"If you didn't come to get me out, go away."

Squirrel lifted her gaze. "You know my history, William. You know I have the bad habit of staying loyal to people who hurt me."

He snorted derisively.

"… Including you."

He stopped pacing, and looked at her.

She offered out the plate again. This time, she said nothing. She just held it out to him. After considering her a long moment, Will came to the bars. He pushed his arms through, took the plate and the spoon from her, and started eating, awkwardly. The bars hampered him and the movements of his arms. He ate slowly, and pushed the meat around on his plate, as though he really had no appetite. His eyes told more than enough of a reason.

_Elizabeth_…

Will ate in silence for a moment, then lifted his head. "What was it you told Sao Feng?"

"Pardon?"

"When Sao Feng was…" He grit his teeth a moment, steadying himself. "When he was taking Elizabeth. What did you say?"

There was no way to be delicate about this. "I told him not to hurt her," she murmured.

Will's head jerked, and his shoulders stiffened.

"I'm sorry," Squirrel bowed her head again, "It was all I could do, given the circumstances."

"And he laughed in your face." Will scowled off into the distance, his teeth bared.

Squirrel watched Will a moment, then looked aside and breathed out softly. "I know I should have done more. Even though you didn't want me to help you, I could have. I should have. I could have stopped Sao Feng, could have fought, I could have done something. But I…" She sighed again. _I was afraid_, she thought, too fearful to voice her fears. _I was a coward_. She looked to Will, meeting his brown eyes with hers. "That's why…" Words failed, and she gestured feebly at the food, then glanced one more time over her shoulder.

Will seemed to understand. He nodded, grateful, then lowered his voice to near nothingness. "Does anyone know you're part of this? The mutiny?"

Squirrel thought back. Ice blue eyes, watching her severely. "Barbossa might." _You felt guilty. You and your Brethren Court. And you… you… Hchst_. "And maybe Jack." She frowned a moment. "I think." She couldn't be certain about either of them.

"So why not free me?"

"You go free," Squirrel said evenly, "And they'll know for sure that I was a part of this." She looked away. "No-one else would risk so much for…" She grappled for the word, but didn't find one that would have suited. Traitor didn't feel right. Neither did liar, fool or criminal. _This is William Turner, for crying out loud_. So she settled with, "For you."

"Because everyone else hates me, and thinks I deserve this." Will agreed, calmly, still poking the sauce and the lumps of meat around with the spoon.

"And everyone knows about my bleeding heart." _And that I'm rebelling in my own way over the deal with Sao Feng_.

"I see." Will ate, chewed, swallowed, then looked quizzically at her. "If that's the case, then why are you here?"

"As I said, William. Loyalty. I made a promise," Squirrel stared at the floor, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. "Come hell or high water, remember? I intend to keep it." She felt a twinge of pain, or regret, or guilt, or something. A soft song started to play in her heart, a song that was neither Tia's lullaby nor the song that often accompanied the sight of Jack. It was something new, something low and sad and painful.

The music was echoed in Will's eyes. "So, how do you intend to honour that promise?"

"I'm on this side of the bars." Squirrel smiled faintly, but only for a brief moment. She stepped closer to the bars of the cell, wrapping her fingers around the rusty metal and coming as close as she could to Will. "I'll help you," she murmured. "What do you plan to do?"

Will stopped pushing around the food. He stared woodenly at the far wall, and breathed slowly, in and out. Then he looked to her.

"After I get out of here," he breathed, "I only have one option."

Squirrel looked at him quizzically. "And that is?"

"I have to make a deal with Beckett."

She flinched back from him, letting go of the bars. He continued to eat, as though it were no big thing. But judging from his grip on the spoon, he felt the way she did.

"Are you mad, William? He's the one trying to kill us!"

"He'll need help in order to achieve that," Will said, smiling humourlessly. "It's a lot easier to take down a nation if there's a civil war raging within."

"In case you didn't notice, William, we are part of that nation!"

"Not if we make the right kind of bargain."

"Like the one Norrington made?" Squirrel asked coolly. "Or Sao Feng?"

Will looked to her, startled, then looked glum and shamefaced.

Squirrel folded her arms and sighed, glancing to the stairs and shadows behind her. "But if that's your only option… Alright, so you want to make a deal with Beckett. Fine. But how, exactly, would you do that?"

"I don't know," Will admitted, still eating. "I thought of leaving some kind of trail for him to follow."

"You'd lead him right to Shipwreck Cove?" She shook her head, disgusted. "Even Jack Sparrow wouldn't stoop so low to make a deal with Beckett." If there was one thing she could be certain of, that was it. Jack wouldn't make a deal with the man he hated. He'd make a deal with Jones to save his skin, but Beckett? No way in Hell. That much she could be certain of.

Will considered her words for a moment, then looked to Squirrel. "Have you been down to the hold recently, Miss Grey?"

She frowned at him. "Why? Are you insinuating that I'm drinking again?"

"Not this time. The empty bottles, from when the water and rum ran out. Are they still down there?"

"Yes…" She nodded, slowly, understanding him. "Yes, of course. Messages in bottles. A brilliant idea." _It just might work_. "But you can't just throw a bottle to the sea and hope that it'll be noticed. You'll need something to attract Beckett's attention to it."

William nodded grimly. "Those soldiers we killed… Are their bodies still aboard?" He took Squirrel's horrified expression to be, accurately, a yes. "Then perhaps I should send them back to Beckett, to ensure they get a proper burial." He ate another mouthful of the stew.

_What happened to you?_ Squirrel wondered, scarce able to believe what she was hearing. _What happened to the Will Turner that I knew? What happened to your integrity?_ She looked away for a moment, and almost laughed at the irony. Here she was, worrying about Will, when she should really be worrying about herself. Typical of her nature, to put others first.

"Of course," Will continued, morosely, "In order for all this to happen, I need to get out of here first." He scraped up the last of the stew, licked the spoon clean, then looked to Squirrel. She was looking to the stairway, head and eyes low, both of her hands balled into fists. But she heard him. His voice was low, but even that didn't hide the pain or the plea. "I need your help, Squirrel. I can't do this alone." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I know there has to be some other way, but… I just don't see it." He sighed heavily, the sound of unshed tears in his voice. "I have to free Elizabeth, and my father, and… and you're the only person I trust to help me with this." He looked up at her. "Please."

"Don't think you can change my mind, William," Squirrel whispered. She pushed her hood back and started tugging restlessly at a knot in her hair, her fingers feverish. "I decided what I was going to do the moment Elizabeth was taken away in chains."

Will bowed his head, his lips curling wryly. But he didn't even have the chance to speak. He stared at her. Or rather, what she held in her hand.

"Give me the plate, William," she said, her voice at a natural volume. "I'll take it back to the galley now you're done with it."

Then, several things happened all at once.

On deck, the bell for the change of watch started to chime. Will handed Squirrel the plate, which she didn't take. It fell to the floor with a loud, resounding clatter, rebounding off the wood and the bars of the cage. And the key clicked loudly in the lock, and the cell door screeched wide.

Squirrel could feel Will's eyes on her back as she relocked the cage door, just in time. The bells had stopped chiming, and the plate had stopped its rattling and crashing. The timing had been perfect, just as she'd planned; the noises of above and below decks having smothered the sound of the escape. But it had been close. Too close. And perhaps the ruse had been seen through already? Squirrel reached back into her hair. Her fingers searched until they found the braid she'd woven, thin as a candle wick. Deftly, she retied the key into her hair, securing it fast. It rested against the back of her neck, heavy and cold.

"You were going to free me from the very beginning," Will stared. "Even before… But… I thought…"

Squirrel pulled the cloak from her shoulders and threw it around Will. "I have to go, William," she told him, curt as one would be with a prisoner who'd earned the ire of captain and crew. "I have the evening's watch." She pulled the cloak's hood low over Will's face, fastened the clasp at the front, and pulled it tight around him, hiding him under the cloth. "I'll be in the crow's nest, as far away from you as I can manage." He was a little tall compared to her, but who would really notice? The crew would see Squirrel's cloak, and wouldn't look any closer. They'd see what they were used to, what they expected to see.

Will looked at Squirrel from under the blue-grey cloak. It seemed so strange for Squirrel to see someone else wearing it. Like some kind of cruel mirror. Had others seen her like this? Some shapeless grey figure without face or personality? No wonder she'd been so safe on Tortuga.

Squirrel took a breath and addressed Will again, and found her voice was trembling. "You've betrayed Jack. You betrayed the crew. You betrayed me. So I bid you good night." Yet the words weren't just for him. They were for her, too. There was more than one traitor on this ship.

_Bloody pirates_, she thought, pained.

"Squirrel…" He reached out a hand, an offering of comfort.

But she sidestepped; she held her chin high and pointed her eyes towards the stairs. "I'd better go." Her words were clipped and emotionless. "I'm very punctual. They'll notice if I'm even a moment late."

Will's eyes shone from under the shadow of the hood, understanding and grateful, but there was no smile on his lips. He saw the pain in her eyes, and knew to speak would be too much. Silently, he turned and left, moving under the cover of Squirrel's cloak. Up the stairs and through the hold and up to the deck, and then across the deck, through the rigging and into the crow's nest to wait out the four hour watch.

At least, that's what she saw in her mind's eye. She couldn't even look at him as he left. She just stared at the far wall until even the sound of Will's muted footsteps was nothing but a memory. Then, and only then, did she risk murmuring, "There. It's done."

_'This has to stop'_. _Well, now, it has. _She heaved a silent sigh as she turned away. _I don't owe you anything, Will. You don't owe me anything, either. We're square; it's done._ She closed her eyes, and moved further into the brig, one hand trailing along the walls as though for balance. _I can't keep my promise_, she acknowledged silently, the dull ache throbbing inside her. _I can't help you free your father. I'm sorry, Will, but this is the best I can do._ She closed her eyes and leant back against the hull, sliding down, hugging her knees as she sat in the blackness. _I can't keep the promise I made to you_.

_The best I can do is set you free_.

She leant her head against the hull and closed her eyes. She wasn't fighting tears; she was too numb to cry. She'd gone too far this time, and she knew it. Freeing Will was tantamount to unfaithfulness to Jack. _This has to stop_, as Will had said. Now, at last, she was listening to his words. But maybe now it was too late; she'd freed him, after all. And yet what could she have done? She'd made too many promises. She couldn't afford to keep them all. She was being torn in every direction but the one she needed to go.

The five stones against her throat were heavy and warm; the coin in her belt pouch called to be flipped heads or tails.

Squirrel had been struggling with this choice since they'd opened Davy Jones' Locker. She'd been searching for alternatives the night the late Governor Swann had told his daughter that he was proud of her. She'd made her final decision the day Elizabeth was taken.

She'd picked up the cold and heavy ring of keys, and held them in her hands. The plan had come together in less than an instant. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She knew exactly how she was doing to do it. She was going to sever her ties to both Jack and Will, and gain the freedom she needed to make the choice on her own terms. At that precise moment, she'd decided.

And that decision had triggered the return of her memories. It made sense, now that she thought about it. All this time, her mind had been closed in on itself, defensive as a clam at low tide, protecting her from the pain and unhappiness that had been in her past. But it took a painful choice, a decision that could bring unhappiness or joy or both, to unlock her mind. A choice had triggered the return of her memories. It wasn't until she'd decided to move forward, regardless of who she'd been, that her memories had been returned to her.

But the price for that? A promise, broken. As broken as her heart.

Perhaps that was the reason she felt like _this_. Like she was committing a crime that carried the death penalty. And it did, in a twisted kind of way. Guilt and indecision and self-pity gnawed at her, calling her cruel names like _liar_ and _coward_. It wasn't too late to turn around and change her mind, she knew that. But she wasn't going to. She had decided was going to make the right choice, and for the right reasons. She wasn't about to let her feelings for Jack or her obligation to William change her mind this time.

She was free of them both, after all.

Unconsciously, Squirrel put her hand up to her hair, and let her fingers brush the key that was hidden there, resting against the nape of her neck. _Free? Well, yes, in a way, I suppose I am_. Her hand dropped down, her knuckles thudding heavily on the wooden floor. She didn't owe either Jack or Will anything. Friendship, yes, and the loyalty that a friendship entailed; those were given. But she owed them nothing more than that. She was free of all that. She was free to make her own choices, to be herself, to move forward of her own volition, without being bound to anyone. At long last, she was free. She was _free_.

But if this was freedom, then she didn't want it. It tasted like bile.

Squirrel sighed, then hauled herself to her feet. She needed to find somewhere to hide. She couldn't risk someone noticing that there were two Squirrels aboard.

* * *

**A/N**: I'd like to take this opportunity to tell you (once more?) that the Jen Cass song 'Pirate' is the most heart-achingly beautiful song I've ever heard. As soon as the CD I've ordered comes in, I'm going to listen to it over and over again, with POTC3 scenes of Tia/Davy and Liz/Will on repeat. (Song also works with Squirrel/Jack (and, until recently, Squirrel/Will), but there's no footage of her, sadly.) 

What is this decision Squirrel is talking about? Sorry, still going to be vague for a little while longer. Feel free to guess, though.


	14. The Final Hand

**Disclaimer**: Well, well, well… Disclaimer. I never thought I'd have the misfortune of seeing you again.

**A/N**: Dum dee doo… Nothing much interesting to say here. Enjoy.

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The room was warm and close, and the darkness was comforting. Squirrel bit into the apple. It was sweet, but there was a tartness to it that swiftly chased the sweetness away. She chewed slowly, elbows on the table, staring through the darkness to the embers of the fire. The sound of her chewing sounded very loud in the stillness. 

The four hour watch had left her with plenty of time to think. Problem was, she didn't know what to think about, so she'd thought about everything, and felt no better for it. She knew she had to regain her integrity, but she knew there'd be a sacrifice for that. After all, what was integrity but sacrificing what one wants for what is right? _But I don't even know what's right anymore_, she sighed, taking another bite of the green apple.

She remembered speaking to Anamaria, a year ago, after another one of the woman's spectacularly vocal confrontations with Jack. Ana had stormed below, dragging Squirrel with her, and spent a long hour in the galley venting her frustrations about the inveterate pirate. Squirrel was a listening ear for many of these kinds of one-sided conversations. This time was just like any other. Squirrel had vaguely entertained the notion that Ana and Jack were lovers, or had been once. Ana certainly seemed to act as women oft did around Jack - half raging, finding him a curse or a fool, and half making excuses and smiling at the thought of him. Squirrel had nodded and made the right noises, as she always did; she kept her head bowed and eyes lowered, until Ana ran out of things to say and they both went back to their duties. Ana may have felt her conscience freed by such talks, but Squirrel took every word to heart.

_That's what I do_, she thought distantly, biting into the apple again, _I take everything to heart_.

Above decks, she knew that a strange moon hung in the sky. A moon half in shadow and half in light. She hadn't seen it yet, given she'd been hiding below, but she knew it was there. After all, it had been a month now since that night in Singapore, when she'd stood on the sand and thought, with a coin in her grip: _the moon and the sea? Or the night and the candlelight?_ She'd found no answers then. Not on the flip of a coin. She didn't think she'd be any closer to finding an answer now, tonight. The coin was up in the air; it would still land on its edge.

Squirrel bit into the apple again, but winced and spat. She'd bitten into a bruise, and the brown, floury taste lingered in her mouth. She turned the fruit in her hand, peering through the dim light, then sighed and put the apple down. It was ruined for her now. She wouldn't be able to enjoy the fruit without thinking at the back of her mind about that one foul spot on the fruit. That one blemish ruined everything._ How appropriate_. She managed a breath of humourless laughter, then turned her eyes to the embers of the galley fire. She stared into them, as though to lose herself in what was left of the flames. And that song - that strange song of Tia's - lilted delicately in Squirrel's head.

"Of all the treasures that I seek," Squirrel whispered, almost singing but not quite, "You alone make my heart weak…" But the song turned, slowly, into the other tune. The one she'd heard in her head when she spoke to Will.

There were footsteps in the doorway behind her, muttered cursing, and then, suddenly, "Saint Peter's holy shoes…!" Squirrel turned her head, and saw the form of Gibbs in the doorway, hand clutched over his heart. He stared at her, fighting to catch his breath and slow his blood. He obviously hadn't seen her as he'd come into the galley; the sudden, frightening realisation she was there nigh killed him.

"Good evening, Gibbs," Squirrel murmured.

"Lass!" He staggered towards her, shaking a finger, struggling to regain his composure, "You shouldn't be sitting all alone here in the dark, starin' into the shadows like that!" He went to the fire, fed it with a few logs, then looked back to Squirrel, a good deal calmer but no less embarrassed. "'S bad luck, y'know," he offered. He straightened himself up as the light from the fire grew. After a pause, he held out something to her. It was her cloak, folded in a bundle. "Here, lass. You really should be more careful where you leave this. It were your mother's, weren't it?"

Squirrel accepted her cloak back, and rested it on her lap. She smoothed her hands over the fabric, as though drawing out the memories contained within it. But for some reason her thoughts didn't light for a moment on Will or his safety. He was far from her mind. Squirrel leant forward again, elbows on the table, and stared into the growing, dancing flames of the galley fire. In a voice as pale and tremulous as ash, she asked, "What else is bad luck, Gibbs?"

Gibbs continued to fuss with the fire, and answered her over his shoulder. "A great deal of things, lass. Can never be too careful when on a ship. Too many things can go wrong, and go wrong fast." He paused a moment to think. "Cuttin' your hair or fingernails after dark, and not throwin' the clippings overboard. Stepping on a ship left foot first. Looking back once leaving port. Stabbin' the ship with your dagger…"

"Mm." The noise was almost involuntary. Hadn't she done that, on the day of the Kraken? And Will, too? Small wonder things weren't going their way. Repercussions for every deed; a cost to pay for every action. But then, it was only superstition. She frowned at that. _As much a superstition as a dolphin?_

"I would have thought you'd be in your bunk. That you're awake at this hour isn't…" Gibbs looked up, and seemed to notice the look on her face for the first time. "Something the matter, lass?"

Squirrel glanced at the half-eaten apple on the table. "I…" She closed her eyes and sighed. "Gibbs, I…"

"Aye?" He straightened up and turned his back on the fire. The light and shadows showed concern in his craggy face. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Squirrel folded her hands in front of her, and stared at her fingers. "I've had… dreams… And I… I don't…"

"Ah. Small wonder you're not sleepin', then," Gibbs said, seating himself opposite her.

She sighed. She hadn't tried to sleep, but she _had_ thought about her dreams in the time she had to spare. The tiny room that served her as a place for private ablutions had served this evening as a place to sit in silence and think. The darkness alone was enough to bring the dream back. "This is going to sound crazy, but… I've had this same dream since I was a little girl. And now it's coming true. Bit by bit, it's coming true." She looked at him. "I don't know what it means, though. I have no idea. It doesn't make much sense."

"I'm willing to listen." He smiled.

She wished she could return his smile. "I saw the Kraken, Gibbs." She stared at her hands again. "Even before I knew it existed, I saw its arms. Snakes that wouldn't die." Her voice was trembling slightly. "I saw the 'up is down'; I looked up at the ocean floor with the sky below my feet. I saw Ana, and Jack, and Will and Elizabeth." She closed her eyes. "Before I even knew who these people were, I saw them in my dreams."

Gibbs didn't look like he thought her crazy. He just watched her, patient and concerned.

Squirrel bit her lip. "I saw a dolphin, but we've already discussed that. But also, eggs, and blood, and muddy water." With every word, she could see the worry lines constrict further around Gibbs' eyes and mouth. But he held his tongue. "I was drowning. But I could still breathe. There was an anchor, under the waves, and Jack says everything's going to be fine." She shook her head, as though unable to believe it herself. "What does it all mean?"

Gibbs' eyes slid to the fire. "Some things there are for good, others for ill." His voice was low. "Snakes mean enemies," he murmured, "And - no offence to the party involved, o' course - but those with skin of a darker hue aren't exactly omens of good fortune. Same with the eggs, the blood and the water."

"And drowning?"

Here, Gibbs glanced to her, offering an apologetic smile. "Tis s'posed to mean good luck lies ahead of you."

"Or it could mean that's how I'll die."

Gibbs sighed. "Aye. There's always that. But given you saw an anchor, I'm inclined to believe the former."

Squirrel looked down at her hands again. It was a nice thought, but it didn't make her feel any easier inside. There wasn't anything certain, after all. How much of her dream was merely symbolic? How much of it was - for lack of a better word - real? How much of it existed only to haunt her? Haunt her as Miss Swann's brave-sad smile did? Squirrel clenched her hands into fists. "I saw Will and Elizabeth dancing in the waves." She looked to Gibbs, hurt and confused. "But how can they be dancing?" She grit her teeth. "How can there be any dancing after this?" The lovers had been laughing in her dreams. They had seemed so in love, so happy. Yet from what she'd seen… How could there be a happy ending for them after what had happened here? She hated her dreams for lying to her.

Gibbs looked awkward. "Lass…" But she shook her head violently, and he fell into silence.

After a long moment, Squirrel slowly unclenched her fists. Some things couldn't be undone. Some tragedies couldn't be avoided. Barbossa had been right, in a way. Squirrel had kicked up a fuss not just because she'd been worried about Elizabeth, but because what had happened cut too close to home. And now here she was, talking about dreams and feeling mentally battered. If she was going to heal, if she was going to find the strength to keep living, then she needed to say everything that needed to be said. Everything.

"Gibbs," she murmured, "I need a friend."

"I'm still here," he said, quietly.

"I've been thinking." She sighed. "Far too much for a sober mind." She almost smiled when Gibbs proffered his hip flask, but she waved it away with a slight shake of the head. "I find myself…" She closed her eyes and shook her head, then looked up at him. "I need a friend."

He said nothing, but nodded encouragingly. A storyteller always knows when to speak and when to be silent.

"You're a good card player, so I'm sure you'll understand me." Squirrel curled and uncurled her fingers like the tendrils of an anemone. "I'm… I'm caught in a game, at the moment. With a very skilled opponent."

Gibbs looked confused. "Is this part of your dream?"

She shook her head. "No, this is… No, it's not." She closed her eyes a moment. "But, you know, to play poker… To win the game, you have to know not only what cards you have, but the cards you've already played, and the cards you don't have anymore." She opened her eyes, looked at the calluses and scars on her fingers and palms; she didn't see them, though. She was looking beyond that. "You have to weigh up what you know… decide what hasn't been played yet, figure out what your opponent is holding, and decide whether you should fold or raise or bluff…"

Gibbs tilted his head and leaned forward slightly. He'd often asked Squirrel to teach him to cheat like she did, despite her vehement insistence that she was only 'reading' the games, and not cheating in any way. He'd never understood her; maybe he thought now he would.

Squirrel found herself smiling sadly, a shadow of a smile. "But the problem is, Gibbs, I can't remember the cards anymore. I can't even see the ones I have in my hand." She stared at her fingers again, eyes unfocused on the here-and-now. "I know what I've played, but… I feel like… like, maybe, the deck's been shuffled, or… I can't… I don't know." She sighed, banishing her smile, then curled her hands into each other and looked up. "I need help to decide if it's worth the risk to play on."

"I…" He hesitated. "I don't follow, lass."

"I should know what to do," Squirrel looked back into the fire. "I should be able to read the game and know, but I can't. I feel… trapped." She nodded, as though voicing the realisation made it tangible. "I _am_ trapped. No matter what I do - go or stay. Whatever choice I make, I'll end up…" She sighed. "I don't know. But every choice feels wrong, somehow. I'm free, but I'm not free at all." She closed her eyes. "I don't know if it's worth it to keep playing anymore." She was surprised that she was able to stay so calm. No tears in her eyes, no trembling voice.

"Lass, I don't understand."

She took a breath, trying to calm herself. Her voice sounded so weak, so feeble, so far away. "I just want your advice, Gibbs. Should I stay?"

Gibbs frowned. "Well, that depends on whether or not you think you can win. If you don't think the game's going in your favour, you should just pull out. Cut your losses. Take your money elsewhere. Course," he scratched his head, "You could always bluff and hope for the best." He smiled. "It is just a game, lass. Win or lose, you can always play again."

"No," Squirrel said. "Not this time. This is the last game. I can't risk playing again…" She looked at Gibbs. "So should I stay? Or should I go?"

"Go?" He frowned. "Lass, what do you mean?"

She placed her hands flat on the table. If she could have, she would have spoken more plainly. She paused a moment, trying to find the best way to word it. But metaphor was too confusing, and anything else would have been a lie. "Should I leave him?" She whispered, "Should I leave Jack?"

Gibbs looked startled. "Lass… Is that what…?"

Her eyes were stinging now. She couldn't even find her voice this time. She nodded, mute and miserable, though she was, in all appearances, much calmer than she felt.

"What? Lass…" He pulled himself and his chair closer to Squirrel, and looked at her, pleading. "You can't be considering this, surely?"

"I am." She found it was much easier to meet his eyes than she thought it would be. "I have been for some time."

He looked hurt, and horrified, and confused. "Why?"

She looked away, into the shadows of the galley. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled with a dry mouth and an immovable tongue. How was she supposed to put it into words? Gibbs wouldn't understand. No-one would. Squirrel barely understood it herself.

"I want a happy ending," she breathed, bowing her head, shoulders shaking as she struggled. "I want… to have a life that doesn't end in tears." She looked to Gibbs, still trying to master the raging storm inside her. "But I can't decide. Should I leave him, Gibbs? If I was one of the characters in your stories, what should I do?"

He stared at her in silence a long moment, not knowing what to say. Not knowing if there was anything he could say. Squirrel didn't blame him. After all, she kept so many things to herself. So many secrets.

_I'm no different to him, after all_, she thought, staring at her hands again. _I can see why Ana left when she did. A woman can only take so much_. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, feeling the power in her hands. She'd the strength to haul on ropes and ride out storms… but when it came to this, she was just as weak as she'd always been. She didn't have to do this, didn't have to feel this way. But it was true, what she'd said to Gibbs. She'd been thinking of leaving the _Pearl_ - of leaving Jack - for a long time. One hundred days, to be exact. She'd had a reason to leave, before. But now she didn't. So she couldn't decide on her own.

The silence stretched on, unbroken except by the sound of the crackling fire, the murmuring of the ship's timbers. The darkness shimmered and whispered silently against the walls. Finally, Gibbs pulled his chair a little closer to the table, and put his hand on Squirrel's arm. "If it were anyone else, lass," he said, voice low, "I'd say yes."

Squirrel looked at him, startled.

"I'd say yes," Gibbs repeated, nodding slightly. "Cut your losses, and go. There's a far better life out there. This ain't the life for a woman. Too many dangers, too many perils. There's so much out there that's better than this. And I hate the thought of someone riskin' themselves for someone who…" He sighed, looking rueful, "Who scarce can care about anyone but hisself." He looked up at her. "So if it were anyone else, lass, I'd say yes, leave him. But because it's you, lass… Stay."

"Why?" Squirrel asked, frowning. "What should I… Why am I different?"

"Because Jack needs you," Gibbs said simply. He sat back and sighed. "He may have a way with words, Miss Grey, but he's not very good at speaking when it comes to saying what he really means. And trust me, lass, he may not ever say it to your face, but he needs you. He just don't know how to say it, or show it, that's all."

Squirrel swallowed, or tried to, the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "He doesn't need me," she whispered. "He doesn't need anyone."

"Aye, or so he tries to make us think." He smiled wryly. "But lass, since you've come aboard, he's been… a changed man. Not in any grand ways, mind you; just small ways. Telling enough to those who know him. He won't show it if he can help it. But… You mean something to him, lass."

_What do I mean to you, Jack?_ He never answered her, directly. He chose to say _You're worth more than you give yourself credit for_. That wasn't the answer she'd wanted to hear. But was that only because she wasn't listening to what he was really saying?

"I know you feel…" Gibbs struggled with the word, "Like… the world is against you at the moment. That there could be something better out there for you… And I've no doubt there is. But for Jack's sake, stay."

_Jack's sake? What about my sake? What about me?_ She looked to Gibbs, blinking quickly. _Why don't I matter? Why can't I ever have what I want, for a change? Why does my life have to revolve around him? Why?_

"There can be happy endings in the hard times too, Miss Grey." Gibbs patted her arm, awkward and pleading at the same time. "Darkest hour is often before the dawn. And you never know. Maybe your happy ending's right here. Waiting for you."

_If my happy ending was here_, Squirrel thought, looking away again, _Wouldn't I be happy?_

Gibbs let the silence settle between them a moment, then sighed. "Lass, if you do leave Jack, where would you go?"

Squirrel lifted her head. "I don't know," she whispered. She hadn't really considered it. Not this end of her decision. "Maybe a manor house somewhere, work as a maid. Honest labour." She tried to smile, but it looked like a wince.

Gibbs saw what she was doing. "You'll turn your back on the sea?"

Squirrel's shoulders slumped. _Could I? No. I couldn't. It's in my blood now. The freedom I crave is the open water, the wind in my hair, the spray on my face. I don't like the land. I never did. Felt like a cage. I could never turn my back on that_. She closed her eyes. _But if I leave, what ship will take me? I'm a woman - bad luck by all accounts. Here, at least, I'm welcomed. And protected. I'm part of a family. But on other ships, I won't be treated as such. _She rolled her lips back between her teeth._ Where could I go? Where else is home, but the _Black Pearl_? Do I have any choice at all?_

Gibbs sighed heavily. "Lass, please. I can't imagine how you'd be feeling right now. But as a friend - as part of your family - I'm tellin' you this." He patted her arm again, then pulled his arm slowly back. His elbow knocked the apple, and sent it rolling. Squirrel watched it tumble over the edge of the table, watched the play of green-on-white, but made no move to catch it. It thudded to the galley floor, then rolled away, lost in the darkness and shadows.

"The stories I told you were just stories. Yours, lass… yours is a life." He looked at Squirrel, earnestly, pleading. "You can choose to go or stay. But my advice is to stay. Play that last hand of cards. After all, you did say that in your dreams Jack told you all would be well, didn't he?"

_Not to worry, luv. It'll all be alright in the end_.

Squirrel closed her eyes. "Yes," she murmured. "He did." She slowly, wearily, rose to her feet, slinging her cloak over her arm as she stood. Gibbs stood as well, concerned. "You've given me a lot to think about, Gibbs," Squirrel told him in a faint voice. "And… thank you for listening to me." She turned, and started to slowly, softly, walk out of the galley.

"Miss Grey."

She looked back.

Gibbs stared after her, as concerned for her as any family member would be. "You'll not… do anythin' rash, will you?"

"Just sleep," she told him. "And think." She turned away, and was swallowed up by the shadows.

But in the darkness of the hold was another story.

She pulled the curtain behind her, smothering the sounds of the crew's snores and the ship's gentle groaning, and slowly, faintly, heavily, sighed.

_I have to ask, Miss Grey… What is a woman of your quality doing aboard a pirate ship?_

She unfolded her cloak, unbuckled her belt and unknotted her sash, and laid them all out on the lower bunk, carefully. Almost reverently.

_I saw you. You look at deh Jack and you feel it._

_Feel what?_

_Deh t'rill of fete._

She unwound the blue bands of cloth from her wrists and forearms, and left them with her sash. Her boots she kicked off, setting them upright against the wall. She peeled off her socks, and lay them down on the edge of the bed. The wooden boards felt cold under her bare feet.

_You said you wanted a life out of his shadow…_

_I don't think I can._

_Leave?_

_Find a life out of his shadow._

She pulled off her shirt, folded it, set it down, then pulled the leather sash of throwing knives over her head.

_And don't let Jack hurt you, either._

_He wouldn't hurt me._

_Course he wouldn't. Just… Just be careful. Sometimes things aren't always like you want them to be._

From her sea-chest, she pulled the linen blouse and trousers she occasionally wore to sleep in. They smelled of lavender oil.

_Then here's to pirates._

_To deh men dat steal our hearts._

_Even though they don't deserve them._

She pulled the blouse on, over the top of her sailor's vest, and loosely laced up the front, up to her collarbones, and to the necklace of five diamonds.

_I wanted to be his everything, just as he was my everything. Foolish._

_You're not foolish. You were in love._

_Is there is a difference?_

She peeled off her pants, folded them, set them down, then put on the trousers and laced them tight. Then she climbed up to the upper bunk, lay down, and pulled her blanket over her head.

_I can't go back; I've nowhere else to go but forward._

_But what about Jack? _

_As I said, William, we'll all know what to do when the time comes._

She pushed the blanket away from her face, sighed, and closed her eyes.

_Do you know what the cost will be, captain?_

_No. None but God knows that._

She rolled over and stared at the curtain.

_So the angel who hovers around my shoulder has a devilish streak after all._

She turned back the other way, to stare at the wall.

_Sometimes, ye have t' break to know how strong ye can be._

She tossed back and stared at the wooden ceiling above her.

_Give me an honest answer, luv. You're good at that._

With an almost inaudible moan, she pulled her pillow out from under her head and smothered her face with it.

_For a woman who follows the sea, life is always lonely… We're always the odd ones out, left standing alone._

She folded the pillow in half, rolled to face the curtain, and jammed the pillow back under her head.

_You can't direct the wind, but you can adjust your sails._

She lay flat on her back, throwing the pillow down to the end of the bunk.

_You become like them so you can be with them. But you can never be what they really want._

Squirrel gave up. She sat up, pushed the blanket aside, and hugged her knees. She wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Too many thoughts boiling and bubbling away in her head. "Bollucks," she muttered, and climbed down from the bunk.

But what to do? What could she possibly do at this hour of the night? She'd done just about everything she could think of already, during the four hour wait. She'd hidden in the tiny room and performed her ablutions. She'd lit a candle and watched it burn to a nub. She'd patched the torn edges of her clothes. She'd polished her sword and dagger. What was left to her?

After a moment, it came to her. Squirrel pulled the sea chest from under the bed, silently, and opened it. Inside was _Hamlet_. If nothing else, she could at least read for a while.

It wasn't too hard to sneak past her sleeping shipmates barefoot. Squirrel climbed the stairs, slowly, moving with the gentle roll of the ship, and emerged up on decks. She stood there a moment, eyes closed and head back, breathing in the fresh salty air. Then she tightened her grip on the waterlogged book, and opened her eyes.

There it was. Just like she knew it would be. That strange moon, cut clean down the middle. Half was naught but a dark shadow; the other gleamed white and pure and certain. Squirrel stared up at that moon for a long, long while. Then, slowly, she turned her eyes to the book in her hand. She opened it, a page at random, then took a sharp breath through her nose and closed the book again. _No. Not this time._ _No more distractions tonight. No more trying to put this off. It's now or never. Do I stay? Or I leave him?_

"So here I am," she murmured, looking out over the water with stinging eyes. "On the edge of the coin." She went to the railing and looked far out to sea, trying to discern the horizon through the blackness. She felt the ship moving across the waves, and swayed with the motion. She felt the wind teasing her hair, and tilted her head into the breeze.

She felt her heart beating, and gripped tightly to the railing's edge.

_I know there's a difference between loving someone, and needing someone. I know that._

_When you find the right person… there shouldn't be._

She sighed heavily, and then again and again. She could barely breathe; the weight of it all was crushing her. _It shouldn't be this hard_, she told herself, as she screwed her eyes shut tight. _It shouldn't be this hard!_ She looked up to the moon again. So much for a balance between emotion and logic. Everything was a mess. Go or stay? There'd be a cost, whichever way she chose. If she stayed, played that last hand, or turned and walked away. There'd be a price. Was she hesitating because she was afraid of that? Or was afraid of something else?

Squirrel turned away from the railing, and climbed to the helm. There was no-one at the wheel, which struck her as odd. The thought was fleeting, though. Someone was surely nearby. They wouldn't have left the ship to drift. It didn't matter. She was alone now.

Squirrel put down the book at her feet and took hold of the spokes. She could feel the whole ship in her hands. If standing at the helm felt the same as it felt to be in charge of your own destiny, she wanted it. It wasn't a bad feeling. Squirrel stood at the helm, holding the wheel steady, looking out across the water and the night and the stars and that double-edged moon. After a long moment, she closed her eyes.

She was free, wasn't she? Free to make her own decisions? And yet the first time it mattered, she was dithering and uncertain and lost. _It shouldn't be this hard_, she thought, a little less pained, a little less in a fight with herself. It was as though the touch of the _Pearl_ was giving her the strength she needed. The very ship she loved and called home was helping her decide what was the best thing to do. With a wry smile, Squirrel leant froward and rested her forehead against the wheel.

"He needs me," she murmured, echoing Gibbs. "And I love him." She sighed again, and closed her eyes. "I love him, and he needs me. That should be more than enough of a reason." She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. At the end of it, she felt a little calmer. A little more sure.

She'd decided. If there was a price, she'd pay it. She'd made her choice. She wouldn't back down now.

She pushed herself back from the wheel, letting go of the spokes. She smiled a moment, faintly, fondly, at the ship, then knelt and picked up _Hamlet_ from where she'd set it down.

_I love him, and he needs me. Different sides of the same coin_.

As the cacophony of voices in her head faded away, Gibbs' parting words echoed through her mind. _You'll not do anythin' rash, will you?_

Squirrel smiled faintly, a half-smile as bright and as shadowed as the moon above her head, as she climbed back down to the deck. "What kind of a pirate would I be," she murmured, blushing a little, "If I didn't do something rash every now and then?"

She turned to face the door to Jack's cabin, took a breath, and raised her hand to knock.


	15. I Love You

**Disclaimer**: Play me something sweet, and disclaimer, and something that I've never heard before.

**A/N**: Okay peoples! Long awaited chapter, very difficult to write. But enough griping! It's up at last! So, load up your playlists with romantic songs (I'm not going to recommend any this time - you guys can decide) and listen while you read. Because, you know, music sets the mood :D So, what are you waiting for? Hit 'play' on those teen romance songs, and get to readin'!

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"Jack?" She put her head cautiously around the door. Silence greeted her. Timidly, she pushed into the room. "Captain?" She murmured, "Are you here?" 

The room was just as she'd left it. The goblets were still on the table, along with the bottle of rum. The candles still danced and flickered, though most were burned low and melted, leaving trails of white wax down the candlesticks, and a great deal of them had died altogether. There was a deeper sense of shadow over this room now; the cabin was darker, closer, smaller. And there was no sign of Jack.

Squirrel looked aside, her lips pulling to the side wryly. _Figures. I finally get the courage to speak to him and he's not even here_. But then she smiled to herself, and closed the door behind her. Clutching _Hamlet_ in both hands, she went to the table, looking over everything that lay scattered about. Sextants and compasses, maps and charts, seashells and jewels and empty bottles and other miscellany she couldn't hope to identify; all of them were his, and all of them spoke volumes about the character he tried to hide. And which she struggled so hard to read.

"My lord," Squirrel murmured, hefting the book towards her lips, breathing the words warm against the leather cover, "I have remembrances of yours that I have longed to redeliver. I pray you, now receive them." She smiled faintly to herself as she set _Hamlet_ down amidst all the other things on the desk. Oddly enough, it didn't seem out of place. But why should that be a surprise? The book had been Jack's from the very beginning. It wasn't really hers; she'd only carried it with her. And now here it was, returned at last. Everything was back the way it should be.

Her smile faded slightly at that. Everything? No, not quite. Squirrel reached up to pull her cloak around her, then recalled she wasn't wearing it. She was dressed for bed, or for a light day's sailing; whichever situation called first, really. And she didn't feel the least bit tired; yet neither was it day.

She shifted her stance and looked around the room, rubbing the sleeves of her shirt restlessly. She noticed, reached for the bottle of rum, and lifted it to her lips. Then she paused, and lowered it again. No sense in sculling it. After all, if it was from Jack's special stash, it was surely a better kind of rum. She picked up a goblet - the one with a few drops of rum still inside it - and poured herself a measure. Then she lifted it into the air, a silent salute, then drank.

She imagined that her lips were against the same part of the goblet that Jack's lips had been. Somehow, that made the rum taste so much better than she could have ever predicted, and sent sparks down her spine.

And yet when she'd finished, and set the goblet back down, what did she feel but melancholy? The closest that either of them had come wasn't nearly enough. After all this time, it wasn't enough. The thought was almost too much.

She sighed, and a matching sigh came from somewhere behind her.

Squirrel turned, peering through the shadows, but could see no-one. "Jack?" She moved towards the rear of the cabin. "Is that you?" Her bare feet made no sound against the floor. She all but tiptoed to the screen, to the wooden barrier that cut off half of the cabin from sight, and cautiously peered around it.

He lay curled on his side on the wide mattress. Despite the size of the bed, he look up less than half of it. The blankets he'd gathered possessively to him, holding them close to his chest; there wasn't enough to cover his legs from the knees down. His mouth was open, careless, and his breath came low and heavy, almost a snore but not quite. His hat and coat were thrown carelessly on a chair nearby, as was his sword and belt. But aside from that, he'd removed nothing, not even his boots. Even asleep he had an air of defence about him, as though he would spring awake at any moment. And yet, at the same time, there was a smallness, a helplessness, to him.

Squirrel had never seen Jack sleeping before. She didn't know that he did. Somehow, he'd always been awake when she was, despite the fact she took watches at the most inhuman of hours. He'd always be there, at the helm, or swaying across the deck, or just watching her. But sleep? Of course he needed to sleep. But it just hadn't entered the realm of possibility in Squirrel's mind. To see this side of him was… touching, really. She went and stood over him, smiling sad and fond, and reached a hand out to touch him.

But her hand hesitated, hovering above his head. _Would I wake him? I don't want to wake him. _She pulled back, biting her lip, and dropped the arm by her side once more. But she stayed, watching him. _I should go_, she told herself, even as she stood where she was_. I shouldn't disturb him_. But she couldn't find it in her to turn away. She sighed and smiled once more._ I could watch him sleep forever_. A sudden chill crept across her arms. _He could be watching me_, Squirrel thought. _He could be watching me under his eyelids. And how would I even know? It's so dark in here - he could be watching me for all I know. I should go_.

He sighed and tossed slightly in his sleep, pulling the blankets closer to him; his legs and one shoulder slipped into sight. He shuffled his head slightly on the pillow, smacking his lips, then didn't move again. His heavy breathing resumed, the distant sound of waves on the shore.

Squirrel turned away. She turned back. She stepped away. She stepped back. She dithered, she danced, she looked back and forth as she pulled herself in two different directions.

And then, spurred by her own boldness, she went and lay down beside him.

It wasn't until after she'd laid her head down on the pillow that she thought to think about what she was doing. But by then, thought didn't matter. Her heart was pounding in her ears; she couldn't breathe easily, what with every breath caught in her lungs. Slowly, as the moments passed, the adrenaline faded - Jack was still sleeping, his back to her. He hadn't moved. Squirrel sighed out, slowly, quietly. She folded her hands across her stomach, grinning to herself in the dark.

_This is, perhaps, a bit _too_ rash_. She had to bite both her lips to keep from giggling, though she could feel her face growing hot. _But when Jack wakes up and finds me here… Then… _

_Then…_ _then what?_

Flushing with mortification, Squirrel suddenly realised she had no idea what would happen after that. Despite all the tawdry, bawdy talk she'd overheard, she knew nothing of what she was supposed to do. After all, she'd never… And, well, she knew how it was _supposed_ to happen, but she had no experience in what actually _happened_. The longer she thought about it, the more embarrassed she became. _This wasn't… I shouldn't even be here. This isn't… I can't… Gah!_ Squirrel grimaced, then lay her arms down by her side and started to push herself up off the mattress

Jack snorted in his sleep, and suddenly turned and rolled over onto his other side.

Squirrel kept absolutely still; she did flinch and stifle a cry when Jack's hand landed on her, because that hurt, but other than that, she was frozen. She just lay there, face turning red and heart pounding in her ears, while Jack breathed in her ear, his hand cupped over her breast.

_Pshg… Nghhl… Frshjl… Eyrlk… Dwrft_…

His breathing changed slightly, and his hand twitched. Gingerly, fingers spread, Jack's hand probed. Slowly, it moved northwards of where it had landed, brushing the cloth of her shirt, the space over her heart, the curve of her collarbone, the shape of the stones on the necklace, the slant of her chin, the softness of her cheeks, and then came to rest, like an exhausted spider, over her nose and eyes. There was a pause. Then the thumb of the wandering hand drummed on her forehead - one, two, three - and the hand wandered back down again, brushing lightly over the curve of her breasts until it came to rest on her stomach.

Squirrel was struggling with her throat - if he was awake, there was no point in trying to stifle any noises. On the other hand, the noises her body was telling her to make weren't exactly ladylike. And sleeping or not, Squirrel didn't want anyone - especially not Jack - to hear her.

Kohl-rimmed eyes blinked sluggishly, and his head lifted slightly from the pillow. Even in the deep shadows, Squirrel could see his gaze blearily focusing on her. The pressure of his hand on her stomach wasn't much - it was barely resting there - but it could have been a cannonball for the way she was unable to breathe. Her mind was spinning - what was she supposed to say? How on earth was she supposed to explain…? _Forget explaining_, she told herself sharply. _You're here, aren't you?_

"_Ni hao, chuanzuang_," she whispered.

"Wha'?" He slurred, eyes unfocused. "Wazzat?"

"_Ni hao_," Squirrel repeated, "_Chuanzuang_."

Jack blinked sleepily at her, then nodded, smiled, then his head dropped heavily back down on the pillow. He didn't move again; he'd fallen back asleep. Squirrel breathed out, very slowly. She didn't want to risk the pounding of her heart waking him fully.

But before she'd even finished that thought, Jack's eyes snapped open again, a little more alert this time. "Wait, what?" He focused on her, confused and surprised, and lifted himself off the mattress a little to peer down into her eyes. "Squirrel? Is that…"

"You have the most amazing facial expressions," she said, calmly, smiling at the way his eyebrows twitched and his lips framed words that he wasn't quite able to voice.

"What…" He frowned, smiled, frowned in confusion, "What are you doing in my bed?"

Squirrel laughed, blushing in the dark. "That sounds somethin' absurd, cap'n."

She saw the glint of gold as Jack grinned. "Yeah, never thought I'd ever hear myself saying that."

Squirrel giggled. "And I never thought I'd hear it said!" She laughed again.

Jack grinned, then looked down at where his hand rested on Squirrel's stomach, then back to her with a raised eyebrow. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but…" He tilted his head, and some of his dreadlocks fell forward towards her, "Is this a dream?"

"If it was," Squirrel's blood was racing, hot beneath her skin, "Would it matter?"

The darkness, the shadows, cloaked them both; Squirrel could still see Jack's eyes shining as he peered down at her. How long they lay together, Squirrel couldn't tell. But it was only a matter of time before Jack lowered himself down for a kiss, pulled her body to his… She flushed, but smiled shyly, hopefully, lovingly, at Jack; she waited for him to smile back.

"You're leavin', aren't you?"

She stayed for as long as she could, but in the end she got up from the bed and walked away because she couldn't bear the look in his eyes.

The air was colder now; no imagined comfort could be gained from the flickering candlelight. The candles didn't make the fact any less stark, any less bearable, either. Squirrel stood before the table, hands pressed to her lips, shoulders shaking and eyes stinging. It wasn't fair that she was able to breathe easily now, and yet could not speak.

Jack followed quietly, stepping slow, coming to stand beside her. "I can always tell," he said, voice low and uncommonly gentle. "I can always tell when someone's going to leave…" His sentence trailed off, but Squirrel heard what he was saying anyway. _When someone's going to leave… me_. He paused, swaying slightly on the spot, but his hands were still and unmoving. "So, this way your way of sayin' goodbye, is it?"

Squirrel rounded on him, palms open and pleading. "I don't know how to say goodbye to you, Jack! Even after…" She grimaced, fighting with tears, and couldn't look at him anymore. "Even after all this time, I still can't think of a way… This was the best… I didn't know…" She sighed shakily. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Don't be," he told her, moving to the window of the cabin, where boxes and items lay littered about the sill. "You're doin' what's right by you. For once." Jack started picking things up, putting them down again, "I was hoping you'd stay, luv. I really was. But at the same time, I… I always knew you weren't gonna be around forever."

"You knew?" Squirrel breathed, eyes wide. She remembered their reunion, when Jack had spoken half to himself. "That's what you meant, when you said 'when the time comes'? You knew I was going to leave?"

Jack nodded, still unable to meet her eyes. "Yeah. And before that, actually. Ever since the day you first boarded. See, I… I got you your freedom, and… and I knew you were goin' to do somethin' with it. Somethin' grand. Just knew it. I never thought that… well, that you'd stay for so long." He glanced over his should at her, saw she was watching him, and looked back, hiding his expression from her. "Never thought you'd waste your freedom on a man like me."

"Jack…"

"I'm not a good man," he told her, turning back to face her. "Good pirate, yes. But a good man? No. An' yet you… you were always… There. You were…" He ran a hand through his hair, lost for words.

"The angel on your shoulder," she prompted, with a sad smile.

"Aye," he returned the gesture, "That." He looked away, eyes going distant. Squirrel watched his profile, feeling her heart ache. Jack closed his eyes. "Even though I didn't deserve it, you were still willing to give me a second chance." He looked at her, head down and eyes guilty. "You know, when the Kraken attacked, I… I ran."

"I know," Squirrel murmured, "I saw you."

Jack nodded, as though he knew she had. "But I kept thinking about me mates. Me friends." He risked looking to her again, and tried to smile. "Me girl…" He looked away. "I'm not a good person. Hell, I'm a coward, and I won't be the first to admit it. But I came back. And you were there, waiting for me." He paused a moment, glanced at her again. "Got me thinking maybe I'm not all the black-hearted cad I like to think meself. Got me wond'rin' whose fault that might be." He smiled weakly, a bare lightning flicker of gold.

"Jack…" She wasn't trying to stop him, or prompt him. But it was all she could say, and the word was so much more than it was.

Jack understood. "First few days in the Locker…" He paused, frowning, then added, "Though no tellin' how long it was. No sense of time. But the first few days, I kept thinking of you, luv." He tapped one hand against the edge of his leg, a nervous, self-conscious gesture. "I was trapped in Hell itself, but I couldn't help but think '_if Squirrel were here, this wouldn't be half bad_'." He turned serious eyes her way. "After all, luv, you'd stuck by me through thick and thin. Through hurricane and fair weather both, I could always count on you bein' there, just like the moon in the sky. And you did say you'd follow me to the ends of the earth and beyond. Remember that?"

"I remember," Squirrel said, unconsciously taking a step towards him, and then back.

"Even when you didn't think it was right, you still stuck by me." Jack sounded slightly incredulous, as though such a thing were beyond his understanding. "Despite the fact," he added, smiling in self-mockery, "You never had a real reason to. You were just… always there." He paused a moment, smiling fondly. "I was thinking to myself that if you could have, you would have come down to join me."

She remembered. _Abandon ship or abandon hope_. She remembered wanting to wrap Jack up in her arms and love him and keep him safe. Yes, in that moment she would have done anything for him, followed him anywhere. In that one moment, she loved him more than she loved her own life. _I would have. At that one moment, yes._

Jack sighed heavily, and looked away. "And then you know what I realised? No, you wouldn't."

Squirrel jolted, surprised. "What?"

He shrugged with one shoulder, still not looking at her. "You wouldn't have come with me," he said, scratching his chin to give his hand something to do, "You couldn't have. Hell's no place for an angel." He managed a weak smile, then sobered. "So you wouldn't have been there."

Squirrel closed her eyes, her lips and voice both trembling. "But I came anyway, Jack. I chained my own wings so I could find you, and bring you home."

"And now you're leaving. I always hoped you'd stay, luv. But I knew you wouldn't." He turned away, clasping both hands as though to stop them from shaking. "Well, I can't say I blame you. You were made for better things. And your freedom's callin' for you." He nodded, distant, absent. "It's high time you… did something for yourself, 'stead of thinking about everyone else. Don't blame you."

"That's not why I'm going," she told him. "It's not why I'm leaving."

He looked at her, a small flame of hope burning in his eyes, tempered with a strange kind of sadness.

"I'm not leaving because of my freedom," she said, looking at the slowly-melting candles dripping wax onto the table.

"So… why then?"

Squirrel said nothing for a moment, using the silence to brace herself and himself both for what needed to be said. Finally, she took a breath. "Because I love you, Jack Sparrow. That's why."

Jack tilted his head, silent and still, but his eyes were singing silent songs, asking unaskable questions, shouting and pleading and speaking to her.

Squirrel closed her eyes a moment, fighting with the tears. She'd taken hold of the _Pearl_'s wheel, and the realisation had washed over her like tropical rain. _I love him, and he needs me. But he doesn't love me, and I don't need him_. _There's too much of a difference. Too much. If they're different sides of the same coin, how can there ever be a compromise between us? It's one or the other, but not both. And that's too much of a difference._

"You were right, you know," she said, giving a weak, feeble smile, more melancholy than anything. "I was always there. And I didn't mind it, even when we fought or when I sulked or… I didn't mind. But…" She struggled with her breath, then looked up at him. "It's not easy to put this into words, Jack."

"Take your time," he said, gentle.

She noticed, for the first time, the way they were standing. It was as though there was a wall between them, that neither of them were willing to cross. It was as though they were both putting up a barrier. They couldn't even touch; they weren't even close.

Squirrel took a breath, and slowly the words crept from her lips. "When I was on Tortuga, you… you were my hope, Jack. I could handle anything they threw at me because… because I hoped that there was the chance that, maybe, just maybe, I'd see you that night, or the night after, or the night after that… You made it worth it." She gave a self-mocking smile. "Silly as that sounds." She sighed slowly. "And then, you died." She closed her eyes, shaking her head as though to fight the onslaught of memory. But Gibb's eulogy echoed throughout her mind. "With you gone… the world wasn't as bright as it should have been. And what I saw in those shadows… of myself, I…" She sighed. "A lot of pain, Jack. Some of it's still there. It's part of the reason, I suppose. But more than anything I think… I think I'm just… Tired."

"Tired?"

She nodded. "As you said, I haven't done anything for myself for a long time. Leaving Tortuga was the only…" She didn't bother finishing the sentence. "I'm just tired," she breathed, tears in her voice though not in her eyes. "I need… time. Time to think things over, to decide… to rest. And, maybe to…" She struggled with the thought, abandoned it with a sigh. "I'm not like you, Jack," she murmured, still looking away. "I'm not free to do as I please. Maybe that's why, after all this time, I'm still finding it hard to leave." She looked to him, hands raised close to her chest, shoulders raised in apology or defence or habit. "But I have to. Even if it is the hardest thing I've ever… I have to."

Jack considered her a long moment. "That's why you're leaving?"

Squirrel looked down. "I'm sorry."

Jack stirred himself slightly, swaying where he was. The motion moved him forward, and he moved awkwardly to the table, where the bottle of rum and the goblets stood. He picked up the bottle by the neck and swigged from it, then turned and held it out to Squirrel. They exchanged short smiles as she took the bottle, swigged. Jack's eyes lingered on her lips, even after she'd handed him the bottle again.

"Have you ever wanted something so bad it keeps you up at night?" He asked her, his eyes distant. "And when you finally get it, you feel… whole? And to lose it all would be like…"

Squirrel stared off into her memories, remembering that awful, hollow ache which left her worse than numb the day that Jack Sparrow was no more. "Dying?"

He glanced at her, surprised, then nodded. "Yeah." He took a short swig, and held the bottle out.

Squirrel nodded, and accepted it back. "I know what you mean, Jack. But the thing is I've never gotten what I wanted. Because what I want is something I can't hold onto."

Jack's eyes turned towards the window, to the sea and the stars and the moon outside. "Same here."

Squirrel took a long draught of rum, then set the bottle back down on the table. They were silent for a long moment, neither of them looking at each other. Then Squirrel broke the painful silence with an equally painful question.

"You can't love me, can you, Jack?"

"Course I can." He looked towards the screen, where the bed and the darkness waited, then back to Squirrel with a knowing smile.

She smiled back. "Yes, of course. But that's not the way I meant." She drew a pattern on the table with her finger.

"I'm not holding you to anything, luv. But I'd like it if you stayed."

Squirrel imagined all those whores, all those women who sold their love as easily as they sold themselves, all of them who had ever had whispered into their ears the words from Jack's own lips, and she envied them. _He can't say it and mean it_, she realised, _He can't say it, because he's said it so often that those words mean nothing to him. The closest he can come is 'I'd like it if you stayed'. The closest he can ever come to saying he loves is me is saying he needs me_. Squirrel closed her eyes, biting her lip and screwing her eyes tight. _But that's not enough, is it? Not for me._

She turned to face him, and her own words sounded almost pathetic in her ears. "I love you. I love you, Jack Sparrow." She turned away before she could see what effect her words would have, and picked the bottle of rum up from the table once more. "I tried being free," she said, the cold glass bottle held lightly in her hands. "I followed your example, cut all my ties, my losses, and owed no-one anything." She swigged, then looked into the candle flames again. "But that wasn't freedom. It felt wrong, like I was running away." She passed Jack the bottle without even looking at him. "Freedom isn't running away. It's having somewhere to come back to." Her voice dropped to a whisper, a bare breath. "And that's the freedom I hope to find."

Jack nodded, distant and lost in melancholy thoughts. Squirrel glanced towards the door, and remembered that day long ago, when Jack had almost kissed her. Back when things still made sense, and hearts were still all in one piece.

With a voice as soft as the wind, she said, "You said once that I could stay."

"And you said you couldn't."

Squirrel forced a wry smile which didn't last very long. "Funny how what you say once can come back and haunt you a hundred times over."

"Yeah," he swigged morosely, "Funny that." He set the bottle down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as I can. Next port," she said, trying to amend her words but too late because she'd seen Jack flinch as though she'd slapped him. "At the next port, I'll… disembark." There wasn't a word kind enough for what she was doing. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Jack."

But he shook his head and turned to face her. "Luv, I appreciate this. I'm not very good with goodbyes meself. Probably why I never get any…" He looked away, flinched slightly, then looked back to her with a smile. "People who leave never say goodbye, luv. You'd be the first." He paused, then that sad hope lit up in his eyes again. "Are you goin' to come back?"

"I don't…" She frowned, considering. "I don't know." She looked up, tried to smile. "I hope I do. Sincerely, Jack, I hope I do. But…" She sighed, saddened again. "I just need some time to… think all of this over…" She managed a chuckle. "But I think the first order of business, once I'm away… I'm going to crawl up into a ball and cry for a bit."

She saw Jack's lips curl in a brief, wry smile. "Are you sure you can't stay?"

"I'm not sure of anything at the moment. That's why I have to go." It was an admission of truth. Jack sighed, wearily, pained, and turned away. Squirrel felt a stab of guilt, and tried to reassure. "It's not going to be forever, Jack."

He shook his head. "But there's no guarantee that you'll be where I leave you. There's no guarantee that I'll be able to come pick you up again, there's no guarantee…" He hissed through his teeth, angry and defeated. "No guarantee you'll… come back…"

"No," she murmured, voice low as a kindness to him, "There's not." She tried to sound light. "At least we'll have the memories."

He looked at her, a beaten cur. "That's not fair, luv."

She looked away, and scuffed her bare toes against the deck. "That's just the way it is." Another silence fell, another few inches of brick were placed in the invisible barrier that stood between them.

"So…" He tried to sound cheery, but it wasn't working. He just sounded anxious instead. "So, that's it then? This is… what you've decided, ey? So… soon as you can, you're off?"

She winced, pained. "Jack…"

But he held up a hand, shook his head. "Nn-no… thankyou for tellin' me, luv. Thank you for, at least… givin' me that. I mean, I know I deserve much less…" He looked to her, his eyes as deep and as dark as she had ever seen them. "At least you got to say goodbye."

Squirrel opened and shut her mouth, closed her eyes, then nodded. "Yes. At least… at least _I_ got to say goodbye." _Even now, Jack, you still can't say it. I may love you more than the world, more than my own life, but you can't even say what I want to hear. You can't even say you need me; you can't even say goodbye. You can't even be bothered to try to change my mind_. She managed a weak smile for him. _But if you did, you wouldn't be the man I love, would you? You would hardly be Captain Jack Sparrow if everything I wanted was everything you are_…

Squirrel started to turn, to walk away. She would have lost her footing if Jack hadn't been there to hold her, to pull her into his arms.

She could taste the gold on his teeth, taste where the bone turned to metal like some alchemist's dream. The bittersweet taste of rum flowed into her, the spice and the smell of it so familiar and somehow so strange and different now that it did not come from a bottle or a silver goblet.

He pulled at her, drawing her in, one hand around her waist and his other gripping the back of her head. She, in turn, pulled him towards her, clawing at his back and pulling at his shirt. As though if she let go, all of this would fade like the dream it surely must have been. She was pressed against his chest, so close, so warm. She could feel his heart beating through her breast; no doubt he could feel hers. Perhaps their hearts danced out the same rhythm; who knows?

Air came in gasps and cries, small mercies that seemed like such torment because it meant her lips went without touching his for tiny moments. Details were swimming around her - the smear of Jack's kohl, the salt-and-sweat smell of him, the panting of his breath, the shine of his beads, the weave of his hair - she closed her eyes to them all, and let his touch and hers be the only thing that mattered.

She was wrapped up in him, all her senses filled by him. She was burning, and relished the fire. She was drowning, and didn't care.

And suddenly there was space between them. Squirrel pressed forward, her lips seeking his again, gasping for one more taste of him. But she didn't find him. She opened her eyes, confused and pleading as a child, and pressed towards Jack again. But Jack once more held himself at bay. He was shaking; she could feel him trembling as he slowly drew his arms from around her. As he licked his lips and panted, trying to get his breath back. As he, with great control, held and maintained that small distance between them. He never once took his eyes from her.

And such eyes. They'd never been so deep, so dark, so fathomless. Squirrel had seen a similar expression in Jack's eyes on the day he'd decided to sacrifice the _Pearl_. On the day he knew he was going to lose something which mattered almost as much as his very own life.

He wasn't trying to change her mind. He was saying goodbye.

_When are you leaving?_

_As soon as I can._

He was saying goodbye now, because he didn't know if he'd get another chance.

Jack saw the pained understanding blooming in Squirrel's eyes, saw her fumbling for something - anything - to say that wouldn't drive him away, and put his finger to her lips. She moaned, tried to kiss him again, tried to take him back into her arms. But he gently, gently, pushed her away, then turned his back on her and faced the window.

Squirrel could barely feel the floor, but with every step she was reminded, reminded, reminded… she was walking further and further away. She felt her heart aching. Jack was standing with a straight back, but there was something altogether slumped about him, as though strength had been sapped from him somehow. As though he weren't half the man he'd been a moment ago.

She'd gone as far as she could; the door was hard against her back. The handle turned in her grip, and the cool night air mussed her hair further. She just backed through the doorway, and closed it quietly in front of her, all the while unable to take her eyes from Jack.

But he didn't move. Not once.

Once the door was closed, she ran to the middle of the deck, then skidded to a halt. She waited, a moment, head bowed, for a sound that proved he was coming after her. But there was nothing but silence. The door did not open; there was no sound of his pirate boots across the wood. Just the wind and the sea.

And the tears rolling down her face.


	16. Are You Listening?

**Disclaimer**: The Code is the Disclaimer.

**A/N**: Don't worry - it's not quite the end just yet. Read on! I've had most of this chapter written for a while now… one of the first things I rapped out after I saw Dead Man's Chest. Heh heh. It hasn't changed too much from the original draft.

* * *

The sea breeze blew, soft and gentle, ruffling the dark sails. The _Pearl_ rocked lightly over the calm waters. All was quiet and still; the light of the moon fell like a thin veil, shimmering over the ocean. Squirrel's tears stopped falling, even as she gingerly wiped them from her eyes. 

_My first kiss… and my last._

A kind of calmness was falling over her. A feeling that was almost like relief. As though she was unladen of the heaviest burden she'd ever had to bear. But she couldn't help but feel wistful. Not regretful, just thinking that perhaps things might have turned out a little different, but there was nothing to be done about it now. But she was glad, in a way, that she had at least been given this opportunity.

She looked up at the moon, but couldn't see it through the swaying rigging and flapping canvas. She could only see the light that shone down from between the stars. With a sigh, she closed her eyes.

_It's not the wrong thing to do_, she thought, _And I do intend to come back, eventually. Just on my terms, on my say-so and choice_. She looked up at the stars. _I deserve my own happiness, my own freedom. I still love him. But I need to find my own way as well._

_About time_, the dolphin sneered, and vanished with a flick of its tail.

Squirrel heard a splash, and jumped. She went to the railing, half in disbelief, and looked about. But there was no sign of the pink-skinned sea creature. She did catch sight of something else, though - a barrel with a body lashed to it. Squirrel watched it pass the ship, from prow to stern, feeling a little sick.

_Will_.

She walked silently to the prow, her bare feet making no sound against the wood. He was busy on the platform behind the _Pearl_'s figurehead, struggling to lift the bloody corpse of one of Beckett's marines onto the next barrel, which was balanced on the lip of the prow. Will managed to shoulder the dead man into position, then picked up a coil of rope. Squirrel padded silently up to the railing and looked down at him, saying nothing, making no sound. Will didn't even lift his head. "Are you just going to stand there, or at you going to help me?"

How he'd known she was there was a mystery. But then, they'd gotten to know each other well on the voyage. She looked down at him over the edge of the railing. "I've helped you more than enough already, William."

He just snorted, and sliced the rope in two. "So, are you going to raise the alarm?"

"What would be the point of that?"

Will looked up at her at last. "You are still helping me, then."

Squirrel's lips tightened; she put a hand on the railing and vaulted over, landing squarely on her feet and recovering gracefully. Will eyed her clothing with muted surprise and slight scorn, but said nothing. He just continued to struggle to tie the ropes, secure the body in place.

"Whoever isn't at the helm is helping you, too."

Will looked at her, startled. "There's no-one at the helm?" He frowned and looked out over the water, up at the stars. "Then how do we know we're headed in the right direction?"

Squirrel shrugged. "Maybe the _Pearl_ knows." When Will scoffed, she raised an eyebrow. "William, after all that's happened, you find the idea that the _Pearl_ isn't just a ship… unbelievable?" She rubbed her arms and looked away. "If you can think of a better explanation, go ahead."

He grunted, looking uncertain, then returned his attention to the body and the barrel.

Squirrel watched him in silence a long moment. "If you lead Beckett to Shipwreck Cove," she murmured, "Beckett will have no reason to make a deal with you." Will's hands paused on the ropes; Squirrel looked out at the sea. "He has no reason to make a deal with you as it is."

"I can help him," Will said doggedly, voice low. "He needs a traitor." He pulled savagely at the rope, securing the knot. "A Trojan horse."

Squirrel breathed a snort. "_Let the door be lock'd_," she murmured, "_Treachery! Seek it out_."

"I beg your pardon?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She looked up at the stars and leaned back against the railing. "How can you be sure, William, that Beckett will agree to help you?"

"Because he's just like Jack. He'll take whatever opportunity presents itself, as long as it furthers his own ends."

Squirrel considered Will's dark face. "You met him." She knew the story well enough.

Will nodded stiffly, bitterly. "He interrupted our wedding." He stepped back to examine the knots, and seemed to find them satisfactory. He picked up with other half of the rope, and looped it around corpse and barrel both, just to make sure.

Squirrel looked away from the body that hung limply from the barrel, looked to the pile of corpses that lay stacked against the wall. _I wonder who they were_, she wondered sadly. Were they unwilling soldiers in this fight? Did they have families out there who would never see them again? What stories might they have told, had they lived beyond this? She bowed her head and closed her eyes, silently murmuring a prayer. Then she looked back to Will again.

Will glanced at her. "Are you here to change my mind?"

She shook her head. "I don't have any alternative to offer," she said softly. "You do as you will."

"And what will you do?"

"Whatever I have to," she told him, locking her eyes onto his suddenly. "Whatever has to be done."

He looked a little taken aback, a little shocked at her sudden flare of temper. He put his hand to the hilt of his sword, thinking she meant to fight him. But then a moment passed, and Will realised she was neither armed nor making any attempt to stop him. He relaxed slightly, but his guard was up. She'd just made her allegiances very clear.

"I still think you're going about this the wrong way," Squirrel softened her voice. "If it weren't for Beckett, none of this would have ever happened."

This time it was Will's temper that flared. "If it wasn't for Jack, Beckett wouldn't have sought us out in the first place!"

"Shifting the blame?" She arched an eyebrow caustically. "How just like Jack." He said nothing; perhaps he didn't have an answer to that. Squirrel bowed her head, too tired to stay angry for long. "My apologies. I didn't mean to…"

Will shook his head, and slumped against the wall. He drew his dagger, the one his father had gifted him, and turned it over and over in his hands.

"I don't know what else to do, Squirrel," Will said, wearily. "Elizabeth's gone, my father's a prisoner… I feel like I'm being torn in two directions at once."

Squirrel sympathised. She'd felt the same not but ten minutes ago.

"My father…" He frowned, that familiar look of pained confusion on his face, "If I'm to free my father… I have to stab the heart. There's no other way."

Squirrel clenched and unclenched her fingers. "You could always challenge Jones to another game of Liar's Dice."

He shook his head, smiling at her attempt to make him smile. But the melancholy overpowered him. "No. It doesn't work like that. The only way to free my father from servitude is…"

"To take Jones' place," she finished the painful sentence for him, a small mercy.

"But if I do that," Will continued, staring out over the sea, "What happens to Elizabeth?" He flinched slowly, a thousand years of anguish heaped on his young head. Squirrel had to turned her eyes away from his pain. "And if," Will continued, as Squirrel studied the stars, "If I save Elizabeth, what happens to my father? He'll just fade away, lost in the _Dutchman_." Will looked down at the hilt of his dagger; the enamel handle was just the same as the moon above. "I made a promise," he said softly, weakly.

"I wish I could help you, William," Squirrel murmured. "But I… I can't make your choices for you."

He heard something catch in her throat, and looked up at her. "Why? What choice have you made recently?"

Squirrel shook her head. "It's nothing," she whispered. _Nothing but a broken promise_. "But I'm done burning my bridges for tonight, William."

They sat in silence a long moment, she leaning against the railing, he still slowly turning the dagger over in his hand. They both let their thoughts wonder where they would.

"Thankyou," William whispered at last.

She tilted her head. "For what?"

"For at least trying to help Elizabeth." The turns of the dagger became a little more rapid, a little more agitated, and the pain in his eyes made him have to close them for an instant. "I heard you arguing with Barbossa and Jack as I was taken below."

"I didn't realise I was shouting," Squirrel murmured, flushing slightly.

"You weren't."

Squirrel nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to do more." She sighed. "But I suppose he appreciated the irony." She dragged her finger along the railing.

Will lifted his head slowly. "What?" The dagger went still in his hands.

"You're right about Jack," Squirrel sighed. "You told me the story of Isla de Muerta, William. The gun Jack was marooned with, he used to kill Barbossa. Poetic; ironic. If there's one thing Jack knows, it's how to plan revenge. And, no matter how you look at it, Elizabeth killed him. He would have gotten his revenge one way or another. Sao Feng was just… convenient. So, aside from his latent arrogance and laziness, Jack had no reason to turn the ship around." It was the truth, plain and simple. She wasn't defending him or attacking him, just explaining his character as though one would explain the rules of a card game. "Elizabeth left him to a fate worse than death. He was just returning the favour." _Terrible as that is, that's the rules that he plays by_.

Will averted his face, and brooded on the horizon. After a moment, he slipped the dagger back in the sheath at his belt. A change seemed to have come over him, a new kind of grief. "You've been so kind," he murmured, turning to face her. "So patient. You've been… a friend… for so long…"

Squirrel faced him squarely. "Think of Elizabeth, Will." Then she made her voice not so harsh. "You'll get her back."

Will closed his eyes and turned his head away. "I want her safe," he murmured, his voice almost lost. "But I don't know if I want her back. I mean, I do, but…" He looked back at her again, starlight gleaming in his eyes. "I know I'm… she can't trust me anymore. But… but you…" Will's hand tightened on the rail a moment, then he turned to face Squirrel. "But I know I can trust you," he said, that hurt innocence in his eyes, that smothered hope. "No matter what."

Squirrel said nothing, but rose, and went to the railing, ready to climb back onto the deck.

"I don't mean to offend," Will pleaded.

"You're not offending me," Squirrel said, stepping up out of his reach. "You're offending Elizabeth."

"Squirrel…"

She dropped back down and glared hard at him. "William," her voice was clipped, "Don't." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I know very well I don't love you, and you know you don't love me."

"No," Will said, gently correcting her, "I said I couldn't be the man you love. I couldn't be Jack Sparrow. I can't be." He reached for her. "But I _can_ be William Turner. And you said so yourself that you needed me." His eyes pleaded. "Do you need me still?"

There was a time when those eyes and this plea would have affected her. That night in Singapore, one month ago, when this same moon had hung over her head. That night she'd been so ready, so willing, to fall. Those strong blacksmith's hands had guided her, helped her become strong, helped her find her balance and her path so many times. She would have accepted that open hand of his, that touch of his.

But not tonight. Not now. Not anymore. Her lips tasted of rum.

"I've just thought of another word," she said calmly, as Will frowned, perplexed. "I can't wait to share it with the boys." She adopted a new tone and looked out over the water. "'Ragetti? Here's another spelling lesson for you, my friend. You can't spell conspiracy without 'piracy'.'" She looked back to Will, glared at him a moment more, then flicked his hands off her. "I said no," she said coolly. "And _you_ said that this has to stop."

Will took a few breaths to steady himself, then turned and faced the sea, gripping the railing in both hands. "My apologies," he murmured, "But you… you don't seem to understand what I'm saying."

Squirrel folded her arms. "Speak, then."

Will sighed wearily, then turned back to face Squirrel. She took a step back, and Will flinched. "No, please. I don't mean to…" He sighed again, then held out a hand. "Please. I just…" He stared at her for a long time, then dropped his hand, and murmured, "There's just one thing I must tell you. And - I beg you - do not go until you hear me speak."

Squirrel stood her ground, and waited.

"I admire you, Squirrel. For the fact that you've come so far, and with… with your integrity intact." If only Will knew she could not keep the promise she'd made to him. "You've been… Your life hasn't been easy. You could have given up at any time, but you chose to keep going, no matter the risk. That's bravery, Miss Grey."

"Sounds to me like you're imagining Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth's _gone_." He slumped, and turned away in despair. He buried his head in his hands, and sobbed. "Even if I find her again, what happens? What happens to us?"

Squirrel slowly unfolded her arms. She remembered the dancers - _how can there be any dancing after this?_ - the way she'd raged against her dreams and reality both. Squirrel had managed to patch herself somewhat, to salvage what was left of her when she'd been torn. But Will was torn by a father and a love to save. He couldn't save them both. He still struggled.

_After all this time_, Squirrel thought, moving to his side, _After all we've been through, he's still my friend_. She put her hand on Will's shoulder, trying to reassure him. _I owe him nothing, but I can offer my friendship_.

After a moment, Will wiped his eyes and turned towards her. He looked miserable. "Thankyou," he whispered. He took a breath, then spoke again. "You told me once that you'd always be honest with me, and I told you the same." He sighed. "But there is just… one thing I've always held back."

"No, William," she murmured, gentle and kind. "Don't get 'I need you' confused with something else."

"Please." Will gingerly, tentatively, reached up and placed his hand on Squirrel's shoulder.

He felt her flinch, felt her ready herself to run, but waited. As time passed, Squirrel didn't turn away, didn't run. Will gave her a half-smile - a flicker of it - before his face turned serious once more. A long silence stretched between them. Squirrel felt Will's hand tense and un-tense, time and time again, on her shoulder, as though he were fighting some momentous battle within. His eyes were so conflicted, so torn and hurt and pleading all at once.

Finally, Will pulled himself up a little taller, and braced his feet more squarely on the deck beneath his feet. He faced Squirrel calmly, and all churning emotion drained from his eyes. There was nothing but certainty there.

"I hope you understand. I'm sorry."

Squirrel frowned, confused. "Sorry? Sorry about w…"

She was swept right off her feet. The air spun around her, and for a moment she could hardly tell up from down. All she knew for certain was that she was flying, floating, falling…

And then she hit the sea, and plunged below the waves.

The cold salt shock of the water roused her senses. The bulk of the _Pearl_ rolled past, churning the water around her to white foam, making her tumble like a ragdoll in the ship's wake. By the time she'd managed to breech the surface, gasping in the blessed air, her hair plastered wet and heavy across her face and skin, the fact was cold and cruel and foremost in all the confused thoughts in her head.

Will had thrown her overboard.

"WILL!" She screamed at him. Her voice was a shriek that carried across the night clearly as a knife. "WILL, you WHORESON! You consummate BASTARD!" His dispassionate face vanished from the railing. The realisation frightened - terrified - her; he was leaving her to die. Squirrel's anger turned to desperation. "William! WILL!" But Will was not going to help her, and the _Pearl_ was slowly fading into the night. Already, the black sails and dark wood were all but invisible in the night. All that remained clear were the lanterns. Squirrel lifted her voice in a frantic screech, trying to rouse the others.

"GIBBS! COTTON! MARTY! PINTEL! RAGETTI!"

But with every cry the _Pearl_ sailed deeper and deeper into the night.

"HECTOR! BARBOSSA! CAPTAIN, PLEASE! SOMEONE! ANYONE!"

The _Pearl_'s lights shrank to pinpricks. Hopelessness washed over Squirrel, but she had the strength to call one last name. "… Jack!" But her voice was feeble, weakened by what she'd spoken to him earlier. Jack Sparrow would not hear her now. "Jack…" It was a final cry, a plea. But no good - it was little more than a whisper, and the ocean obliterated the sound of it.

The lights winked out. Distance and the darkness of night had swallowed the _Black Pearl_ whole. All that remained was the stars and the half-moon and the salt of the sea. The night wind ruffled the surface of the water. All was silence, but for the sound of choked sobbing and feeble splashing.

Squirrel stared, unable to believe what had just happened. She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. She sunk slightly under the waves as a result; with a cry she tore her hand away and started to swim furiously. She'd find the _Pearl_, catch up to it, climb aboard. She wouldn't die out here. She'd get back to the _Pearl_.

But where was it in this blackness?

The strokes of Squirrel's arms slowed, slowed, until she was merely treading water, floating in the middle of the ocean. But what good was floating? She was lost, lost at sea. And no-one was going to come to her rescue. Not this time.

No-one would even know she was gone until morning.

_Are you listening?_

She should have recognised an actor when she saw one. After all, she'd been his teacher. _I think he appreciated the irony_. Squirrel's own words had been a key to his guilty conscience. She'd absolved him of all blame. After all, what was Will doing but getting his revenge on Jack? _How poetic_.

With a whimper, Squirrel lay back in the water and stared up at the stars. They stared back down at her, silent and unmoving, flickering like distant candles. They spoke of heavenly landmarks, spoke of directions to follow. With a pang of conscience, Squirrel realised that's what she'd needed more than anything. Direction. She'd just been too busy, too caught up in herself, to see that.

And now that she was lost, what else was there to do but turn to the one who laid all the world's paths?

_Are you listening?_

"I told you once that I was," she closed her eyes. "I was, then. But I stopped after a while, didn't I? I decided I'd rather plot revenge, and let the hate fester. You see all; You know all. So there's no point in me telling you what kind of a person I am." She opened her eyes and focused on the stars again. "I don't deserve forgiveness, I know that. And… well, if it is Your will to let me die at sea, then…"

No feigned prayer, this. Desperation made sincerity of words which might have been hollow before.

Squirrel's eyes filled with tears. "If that's what You have planned for me, Lord, I will not rebel. I've done so much, so much… I don't deserve to…" She shivered in the cold sea, then cried out loud, thrashing her fists against the water's surface, "Lord, if it is Your will for me to die at sea, then let it take me! Let the Devil fill me with such dread and despair!" Her sobbing quieted. She closed her eyes as the tears spilled out; she could no longer speak. _Lord_, she thought instead, _have mercy on me, a sinner. If it is Your plan for me to die out here…_

She'd not even chance to finish the thought when she was suddenly overcome. Not with emptiness, despair, or dread, but resolve. Strength. Such as she'd never known. A certainty that, just like the figure in her dream had smiled, everything would turn out alright. Squirrel stared up at the stars, at the candles lit by distant hands. She smiled, and belatedly finished her prayer: _…but if not, then give me your strength and direction, and do not let me lose hope_.

"Thank you."

She sat up, her body slipping below the surface of the water, and looked around. The _Pearl_ was long-gone, and there was no telling which way in the darkness its path was. And even if she was able to find it in this darkness, she'd never be able to reach it. Will may have taught her to swim, but even the most accomplished swimmer couldn't swim after a ship in full sail. Especially not the fastest ship in the Caribbean. There'd have to be some other manner of rescue at hand.

_Are you listening?_

In the distance, far behind her, Squirrel heard a wave break against something, and turned towards the sound. In the darkness, she could see nothing. But she waited, and strained her ears over the sound of her breath until she heard it again. It was distant, but not unreachable. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there.

_Go_, something told her. _Swim_.

"Right," Squirrel took a breath, then swam.

Arm over arm, she made slow gradual process through the darkness. There were times when she could not hear her destination, and waited for too long in silence, floating in the open water. There were times she thought herself to be moving in the right direction, only to hear the noises to her left or right, and had to correct her course. In this complete darkness, fear and doubt could have - should have - assailed her. The deep, black expanse below her seethed with the unknown, and the sounds she followed were so indistinct she might have been heading into the arms of a ghost. But these thoughts did not even cross her mind. She swam, heart fortified against all ill, thinking only of reaching the source of the noise.

Her arms were shaking, her legs were cramping, and her breath was ragged by the time she was able to recognise what she was aiming for. The noise of water against wood was distinct in so many ways, and the recent events played back in her mind. Will's barrels. The 'flotsam' he'd thrown overboard. That was what she was swimming for. Barrels floated. Heartened by this discovery, Squirrel pushed aside her fatigue and plunged further forward through the sea.

Squirrel had no notion of time, but she'd spent a good four hours swimming for the beacon in the water. And when it was finally discernable in the dark, close enough to make out by the light of the stars, it took Squirrel another half-an-hour to finally reach it. The false dawn was breaking by the time she first laid a pale, water-shrivelled hand on the wood, and sobbed with relief. She clung to it, and sobbed a thousand thanks to the listening heavens.

"It's not my fate to die at sea," she laughed. Then, gathering what remained of her strength, she hauled herself up into the floating barrel.

She almost fell back into the sea at the sight of what was already there. The bloated corpse stared back at her. Squirrel recoiled, surprised and then disgusted. And then, pitying.

"I'm sorry, mate," she murmured, tugging at the ropes and pushing the corpse out from where it was tied, "But I need this more than you do. And you deserve a proper burial." She loosened the ropes, and gently pushed the corpse loose with one of her feet. The dead man floated some way out on the waves, head back and eyes staring back at Squirrel. Squirrel stared back, feeling a lump in her throat.

A bottle slid out of the man's jacket, and floated in the waves. It had been tied to his neck with a length of string, but the string had snapped when Squirrel had loosed the dead man from the ropes. Frowning, Squirrel snatched it quickly from the water, and held it close to her. It was important, otherwise it would not have been hidden. But she did not have the strength or the desire to examine it yet.

The corpse continued to bob in the waves before her, waiting. Squirrel stared at the dead man, not knowing what to do. And then, it seemed so simple.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Then, louder, she repeated, "I'm sorry! For you… and for all the others." Tears fell from her eyes as she wept for the dead. For the ninety eight men who would never sail again. "I'm sorry for what I did." She managed a repentant smile to the unheeding corpse. "You tell them that. Tell them that I'm sorry… And that I pray I can be forgiven."

The corpse bobbed a few moments more, then slowly slid feet-first under the waves. It vanished with hardly a ripple.

Fatigue suddenly crashed down on her. Squirrel groaned and dropped herself down on the wood. Her legs suddenly cramped up once more, causing her to flinch and twitch and scream in agony, almost losing her balance. She awkwardly massaged the taut muscles in her legs and feet until the pain eased, then settled herself over the barrel and closed her eyes, one foot trailing in the water. Wet, tired, and alone, with the dawn slowly breaking over her, Squirrel curled up, her hair as a pillow and the bottle clutched tight in both hands, and fell into a deep sleep.

Sometime later, Squirrel woke to the sound of shouts, of timbers creaking, of sails flapping in the wind. A ship, and right on top of her. But her strength was gone. She could barely even open her eyes. So she waited, listening to the sound of the ship, thinking it would pass her by.

But it didn't.

Delirium blurred how she was drawn near to the ship; she recalled her ribs being prodded, and someone shouting 'this one ain't dead!' Someone lifted her up, someone shouted 'bloody hell, it's a woman!' when her hair fell free; she felt the deck of a ship comfortingly solid under her as she was laid down. Someone tried to take the bottle from her, but she curled her body around it and refused to let go, even offering a feeble growl in resistance. She could smell wood and tar and sweat and that moist-straw smell that was rope, and she was glad to be on a ship again, grateful to have been saved. But when she saw who her rescuers were, she closed her eyes and silently pleaded they'd throw her back into the sea.

But she had no such luck.


	17. What Indeed

**Disclaimer**: She's going to disclaimer you!

**A/N**: Uber long chapter to make up for the long break. I'd been looking forward to writing this one for a long while, but by the Matrix was it HARD to write! Even now I'm still a little unhappy with certain bits. But I think it's as good as its gonna get for now :D Enjoy. ((I apologise to the Rolling Stones for stealing the line from 'Sympathy for the Devil', but it had to be done. Kudos to Keith Richards, as well :D:D))

* * *

She was aware that everyone turned to stare at her as she passed, as though she were some bizarre creature from a menagerie. They weren't all unfriendly faces, but she was led past them all, too fast to read what they may have thought when they saw her. There were too many expressions to take in at once; too many faces. She put a bit of a swagger to her walk, a bit of a smile on her face, and kept her head high, trying to seem to them that she was not afraid. 

But her hands tightened the blanket around her shoulders, and her eyes flickered here and there and everywhere. No escape. No chance to flee. She was trapped.

The man who was escorting her was smiling to himself. He hadn't looked at her straight, not since the bottle had been pulled from her grip, but he was smiling nonetheless. As though enjoying some private joke. Or anticipating one. He led her through the doorway, through a short corridor. A door set with glass panels was guarded by two men at the end of the corridor; the soldiers straightened up as Squirrel and Mercer, followed by two more soldiers, approached, deliberately avoiding Squirrel's inquisitive gaze. She didn't recognise their uniforms - navy blue and scarlet red - but she knew the symbol they wore. Those belt buckles on the centre of their chests were unmistakable. This was a private army.

"I take it you're not carryin' any of those little knives with ye this time?" Mercer smiled.

"If I was," Squirrel said archly, coolly, "Do you think I'd tell you?"

Mercer turned his harsh eyes to her, the smile sliding off his lips. "Best polish your manners, miss. You've no friends 'ere." He rapped his knuckles against the door, waited a heartbeat, then opened the door. He gestured for Squirrel to enter first, and, with a sour twist of the lips, she did.

And she stopped, and stared.

If it wasn't for the sight of the sea out the windows, and the rocking of the floor, she wouldn't have known she was on a ship. She was in a stateroom of epic proportions. It was huge, and spacious, and decorated with objects of wealth and taste. Chairs and tables and chests of drawers rested on elegantly-carved legs and large expensive Persian carpets. Oil paintings and watercolours in golden gilt frames hung about on the walls; a large globe of the world crouched near where she stood, and a map of the world filled up one of the walls behind an intimidating desk. Squirrel couldn't have afforded even to _look_ at this room, even if she had all the wealth of Isla de Muerta to draw from. The sheer extravagance of it all made her feel weak.

And yet, at the same time, she felt so uneasy. The way things were lined up, just perfect; the placement of the furniture, the paintings, the various trinkets and boxes and whatever else, was all _just so_. The room felt like a torture chamber. There were symbols of power everywhere. And not just any power, but the superiority of the East India Trading Company. There were racks of Company-stamped goods, carved wooden boxes, containers of spices… There were no shells, no pagan masks, nothing that might have documented the beauty or strangeness of other cultures unless they were marked or tamed in some manner with the three letters and the caltrop lines of the Company flag. A barracks of beautiful swords stood at attention in racks against one wall. The globe, the charts, the weapons, the tables piled with maps and charts, and even a life-size painting of a victorious and triumphant conqueror, all served as none-too subtle reminders that she should be afraid, because she was nothing. A ragged little nothing.

A man came around a wooden screen, adjusting the sleeves of his coat with easy nonchalance, and Squirrel felt her heart leap into her throat. There was no use in pretending she wasn't afraid anymore. That pretence had shattered in this man's presence.

The man's eyes confirmed what the room had told her; they slid off her. "Are we still on course, Mister Mercer?"

"Aye sir." Mercer made a small bow, and held out a folded scrap of cloth. "Nothin' new t' report."

The man moved forward and took the cloth, and opened it. Squirrel caught sight of the East India Trading company symbol; she realised, a moment too late that she was being _allowed_ to see it. The man had wanted her to see what it was she'd carried with her.

"Very good." He folded the cloth and pocketed it. "And?"

Mercer smiled slightly. "Cap'n says they've spotted two more buoys off in the distance, sir."

The man nodded, and fiddled calmly with his lacy brocaded sleeves again. "Thankyou, Mercer."

Mercer tugged his forelock and bowed. "Aye sir." He moved backward, and took hold of both doorhandles of. Squirrel turned around to stare at him with wide eyes. Mercer's smile slid python-like across his lips. He kept his cold eyes locked with hers as he slowly pulled the doors closed, even as they clicked closed. His shadow behind the glass turned and vanished, leaving her there; the four soldiers remained at attention outside.

Squirrel stared at the doors, long after they'd closed, almost too afraid to turn around. Finally, she knew she had no choice.

"I know you," she whispered, "You're Cutler Beckett."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly for a bare second, but other than that there was no expression on his calm face. "_Lord_ Cutler Beckett, if you will."

Squirrel would have smiled at the near-petulance of his tone if she hadn't needed to concentrate on breathing. "And what if I don't?"

No expression. No anger, no distaste, not even a mocking smile. Just those cold blue-green eyes pinning her, shaming her into silence. He moved across to a table covered in a dainty white cloth - _expensive_ white cloth - and lifted it from the table. There was a silver platter, teapot, sugar bowl; porcelain cups and milk jug; glass containers of preserves; plates of cut fruit and cold meats and a basket of sliced white bread.

Squirrel's stomach growled noisily; she flinched and clamped a hand over her stomach. Beckett smiled to himself, and looked evenly at her, head tilted slightly.

"I know many people who are, shall we say… somewhat _rude_…" Squirrel flinched despite herself, even as he continued to speak, "Before they've had breakfast. You'll have to pardon me if I count you among their number." He smiled at her, then pulled out one of the chairs and made a gentlemanly gesture with an open hand. "Please, sit."

Squirrel's eyes flickered nervously around the room. She hadn't eaten since dinner last night. But, the food could be poisoned. It could be a trap. It could be a bribe. It could be anything. This was Beckett. He wasn't generous. He was a businessman, a ruthless businessman. He wanted something in return. This wasn't innocent. This wasn't what it seemed. Surely not. Squirrel's stomach growled again, more insistently.

"No need to be shy." His words were almost lazy they were so self-assured. "You're obviously hungry after your recent… adventure." His eyes never left hers. And she found she couldn't resist.

_This feels so familiar. But I can't imagine where I've ever felt like this before…_

She sat stiffly down on the chair, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she did so. Beckett moved around to the other side of the table, picked up a thick slice of bread and a knife, and started spreading one of the preserves over it. Squirrel could smell the fruit and the sugar; she had to bite her tongue to keep her teeth from chattering.

"I hope you have no aversion to strawberry jam?" It wasn't much of a question. He set the slice of bread down on the plate in front of Squirrel, then seated himself opposite her, adjusting his brocaded coat sleeves yet again.

Squirrel stared at the bread a moment, then lifted her eyes to Beckett. "Strawberries? What are…" She fell silent. _What am I doing? I shouldn't be talking to him!_ And yet she flushed because she was ashamed of her own ignorance, her own poverty. She felt like nothing in this man's presence. Nothing and no-one.

Beckett tilted his head, an amused smile curving across his lips. And then he ignored her, yet again. He picked up his own slice of bread, spreading the same preserve with smooth strokes of the knife.

Squirrel stared at the food in front of her. "I know who you are," she muttered, pushing the plate a little bit away. She risked meeting his gaze, risked the chill that gripped her whole body. "And you obviously know which ship I'm from. And," she licked her lips nervously, "You know I'm a pirate."

"True," he agreed, setting his bread down on his plate, "But we both can at least afford to be civilised, even at this hour of the morning." He gestured to the teapot. "Can I offer you tea?"

She said nothing; she had no illusions about who was in control here. He poured the tea, for both her and himself. But his eyes were on her, all the time, cold and unreadable. His eyes - just the way she'd imagined them to be. As Squirrel sat awkwardly, Beckett added milk to his tea with a smooth, unconcerned gesture. Cubes of sugar - not the hard paste she was used to, but cubes of crystal white delicacy - were dropped gently in, one after the other. She stared - seven cubes? Expensive; lavish; extravagant! Beckett picked up the porcelain cup and saucer, and drank, watching her the whole time. He wasn't going to say anything. Not yet.

Squirrel freed one hand from gripping the blanket at her throat, and reached for the bread on her plate. She picked it up, and bit down into it, and her stomach told her it was the right thing to do, even as it was bunching in on itself with fear. Beckett's lips curved slightly behind his teacup.

Squirrel ate, awkwardly and uncertainly, trying to remember her manners even though she'd no idea what to do. All the forks that were laid out for her were a riddle she couldn't determine the answer to. Beckett watched her eat, drinking his tea and picking delicately at the spread that had been prepared. Squirrel did her best to copy his motions, but was flushing with mortification the whole time. It was impossible not to feel like she was supposed to impress him, and was failing miserably. His eyes never left her. Cold and ruthless eyes, and a smile that wasn't a smile at all. He wasn't concealing anything, because there was nothing for him to conceal. It was a terrifying kind of honesty. And a frightening reversal, because she could just feel his eyes and sharp mind stripping her bare.

Eventually, she could eat no more, and could no longer ignore the shiver that danced constantly up and down her spine to the beat of her fluttering heart. "Why am I here?" Squirrel asked, sitting as far back from the table - from Beckett - as she could manage. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she stared at the brocaded pattern on his copper-green vest.

"You are curious as to why I am showing you courtesy?" Beckett set down his empty teacup and rose to his feet. "I could ask you the same question: why are you here?"

Squirrel watched him warily as he moved across the room. "I don't know where they're going." She didn't need to explain - Jack, the _Black Pearl_, the pirates of the Court.

"So why are you here?" Beckett turned and looked back at her, head tilted slightly, eyes still cold. "Was it choice?"

Squirrel felt her breath catch in her throat, and had to look away. _No. It wasn't choice. I'm here because Will threw me overboard. But if I'm not here out of my own choice, then why am I here?_ "An accident," she muttered.

"And yet you were carrying this." He threw her the scrap of cloth; she caught it out of reflex. The charcoal lines stood starkly out at her. "That's no accident. And certainly no coincidence." Beckett smiled again, then waited, eyes pinning her.

Squirrel licked her lips again; she folded the cloth and dropped it next to the teapot. "I don't know where they're going. I don't know where the Brethren Court are meeting."

Beckett said nothing for a moment, but coldly considered her.

"I don't know where they're meeting," she repeated. "I don't know where Shipwreck Cove is."

"Shipwreck Cove?" Beckett raised one eyebrow.

Squirrel pressed her lips shut. _What is wrong with me? What am I doing?_ She still felt that strange chill, and her heart was still pounding. _This isn't Tortuga_, she thought, confused, _And I'm not stuttering. But I've felt this way before, somehow. I just can't quite remember…_ It was bizarre, this way she was caught between wanting to run from her life, and wanting to stay. So very bizarre. And so very familiar.

"Don't worry," Beckett said smoothly, "You haven't revealed anything to me I didn't already know." He picked up something from a table by the wall - a small, silver coin - and fingered it absently. "The Brethren Court go to meet at Shipwreck Cove. The gathering of the nine Pirate Lords in their well-hidden fortress." He set the coin back down.

Squirrel glanced at the door, and calculated her chances. _I could run. I could throw wide the doors and bolt. Might have a few second's head-before the guards start after me. Then, on the other hand, there's four of them - the two door guards and the men who were escorting me. I couldn't outrun or fight them all off, not all at once. And then there's Mercer to take into account. And then Beckett's standing near where all those guns are; he could stop me on his own. I might not even be able to reach the door before_… She paused a moment, and stared dumbly at the spread on the table in front of her. A feeling of obligation filled her. _I can't leave. I haven't finished my tea._ She picked up the cup with a hand that was almost shaking, and drank the flavoured water straight: no milk, no sugar.

"To answer your question," Beckett said coolly, still watching her, no expression betraying what he might be thinking, "You are here because we pulled you out of the sea."

Squirrel picked at the cold meat and fruit with her fingers. "Then, by all rights, I should be in a prison cell, not your stateroom." She popped a few grapes between her lips, struggling to think where, where on earth she'd ever felt like this. What good was getting all her memories back if she couldn't draw on them when she wanted to? "Or," she continued, "Failing that, dead. That's what you do to pirates. You kill them."

Beckett still watched her, watched her nervous fingers and the motion of her jaw as she ate. "Perhaps I am merely curious as to why you were in the sea in the first place."

"That still doesn't explain why you're giving me breakfast." Squirrel lowered her eyes, flushing for a reason she couldn't discern. Her heart beat in her ears and her skin rippled with chills. Suddenly, it dawned on her. The stories. _Of course, the stories. Stories of Sao Feng, Barbossa, Jack Sparrow, and every other pirate legend that ever sailed. Being here is like how I felt when I first met the men from the stories_. This realisation was more than a little disconcerting. After all, she didn't know any of the stories about Beckett. She knew next to nothing about him. Only this: that she feared him, but was fascinated by him at the same time.

Beckett turned away from her and studied one of the paintings on the wall, hands clasped behind his back. "Well, that all depends on why you are here, doesn't it? If you are here as a guest, then I am bound to offer such hospitality. If not, then the least I can do is offer you a last meal."

She shivered a moment, but as his words sank in she went very still. "A guest? What?"

"Someone aboard the _Black Pearl_ is leaving us a trail," he turned back to face her, and locked her gaze with his. "A path to Shipwreck Cove." He smiled slightly at the look on her face. "I think you know what I speak of."

She looked away. William. William, and his intended deal with Beckett. Horror crashed over her as she suddenly realised what William had done… and what she had contributed to. She shouldn't have freed Will from the cell, shouldn't have even made the promise to help him in the first place, had she known this would be the result. Will - and by her actions, Squirrel herself - were going to bring about the death of the Pirate Lords, and bring about the end of the freedom which Beckett so violently opposed. Treachery. Treachery worse than she could have ever imagined possible. She felt sick.

She had helped Beckett.

"I presume I would not be wrong in guessing what you know who is helping us." He examined the painting again, but stood in such a way that he watched her with one eye. "So, that question you asked still needs to be answered: why are you here?"

Squirrel bunched both hands into fists and rested them on the tablecloth. "I'm here because I changed my mind." True, not just for this set of circumstances, but for so many more before this one. "I wasn't going to help him anymore."

He smiled at her, cold and humourless. "And yet, here you are."

"I told you," she faced him, trying not to let her fear turn to anger. She needed to keep control of herself. "I don't know the way to Shipwreck Cove." She glared a moment before she had to look away. "And I'm certainly not going to help you." _Not anymore. I may have helped you unintentionally before, but so help me God, from now on I will fight you with every breath that I draw_.

Beckett's lips curved again, that frighteningly calm smile. "Why should it matter to me whether or not you know the way to Shipwreck Cove?" He made a controlled gesture to the window. "Our benefactor's trail did not end with you. The course is still being laid." His eyes turned lazily back to her, chilling her skin once more. "Was it a punishment, then, for changing your mind? Was deciding to take the wrong side the reason you have been abandoned?"

He certainly knew just the right words to hurt her, even if they weren't true. Squirrel looked back to the breakfast spread. "Wrong side? Pretty speech, Beckett. But _you're_ the one lagging behind. The _Black Pearl_ is out of your reach, even with the help of a traitor. You'll never catch her. You'll never find Shipwreck Cove. You'll never get Captain Jack Sparrow." It was bravado she didn't really feel, but it was something she _knew_ for certain.

So, why, then, was Beckett smiling like that?

"You seem quite certain of that fact," he said, offhanded, "Yet you yourself know nothing of Shipwreck Cove. Or of the Pirate Lords."

She scowled. _I know the stories well enough_.

Beckett turned to face her, hands still clasped behind him. "Tell me, does Captain Jack Sparrow reciprocate your faith in him?"

_Why would Beckett change the subject like that?_ Squirrel frowned slightly. _Maybe he didn't_… Her eyes widened as it dawned on her. Beckett just smirked. It took a moment for her to remember to breathe.

"He…" The words came far more easily than they should have, "Jack's working for you."

"Not quite," the man said calmly, "Jack Sparrow and I have far too much of a history to consider 'working together' again. However, there are times when we can come to mutually beneficial arrangements." He considered her, eyebrow raised. "Does this come as a surprise to you?"

His question made her realise how calm she felt. "No," she said slowly, "Not really." It wasn't much of a revelation, come to think of it. She'd always known, somehow, that she and Will weren't the only traitors aboard. And despite all he might have ever promised or suggested, Jack was who he was. "He's a pirate. Serves his own interests…"

"And yet judging from your tone of voice, you're rather disappointed."

She had to look away. "He's betrayed us before."

"Betrayed _you_?"

Squirrel got up, leaving the blanket draped over the chair; she went to the window, and stared out at the sea.

The air was close and heavy and tense; she had to breathe with her mouth open or she couldn't breathe at all. She should have felt relieved - after all, Jack's actions absolved her of blame. Jack was the one who was initiating this mutiny, this betrayal. The Pirate Lords would fall, not because of the actions of an outsider like William or a crewman like Squirrel, but due to the treachery of one of the Lords themselves. It wasn't her fault; she could have felt relieved. But instead she just felt worse.

She should have seen it coming. Some lookout she was.

Out the window, a longboat was making languorous progress across the water. Squirrel recognised one of the figures in the longboat. But she got a cold shock as the sight of a ship bobbing on the waves registered to her senses. Mercer and a few soldiers were rowing towards the _Flying Dutchman_.

_Why is that here?_ She wondered, still feeling ill. _Why wouldn't have Beckett sent it after us? _It took a second to understand why. _Jack hates Beckett, and the feeling seems to be reciprocated. If Jack likes to make his revenge personal, why shouldn't Beckett? The _Endeavour_'s following the _Pearl_ - Beckett wants to see the Pirate Lords die first-hand_. She frowned out the window. _Still, why is the _Dutchman_ here?_ She snorted softly. _Probably part of the deal Jack made, no doubt, to avoid going back to the Locker_.

_Bastard. Your life's still the only thing that matters to you, isn't it? Even after everything we've done for you…_

"Can I interest you in some sherry?"

Squirrel turned one eye to him. "A little early in the morning to be drinking, isn't it?"

Beckett moved to a cabinet to her left. She watched him as he poured the drinks, watching the movement of the man's hands as he poured the sweet alcohol into two tiny crystal glasses. She told herself that she was watching to make sure that he wasn't drugging or poisoning her. But the shivers that came from the sight of his smooth hands told her otherwise.

Beckett came towards her, offering the glass; she accepted it and looked back out the window. "A frightful sight, isn't it?" Beckett also looked out the window, some feet from her, holding his own glass of sherry nonchalantly. "But very useful." His lips tightened in a smug smile. Mercer had made it to the _Dutchman_ by now, and he and the soldiers were climbing aboard.

Squirrel lifted her glass to her lips, then lowered it again, head tilted in thought. "How is Admiral Norrington enjoying his promotion?"

"Mmm?" Beckett glanced at her, sipping at his sherry once more. "So you heard about that?"

She continued to look darkly through the glass. "How else could the _Dutchman_ be under your command?" She glanced to her left, locking gaze with him. "He took the heart of Jones to get his life back. Seemed to be the only thing he was living for."

Beckett looked out the window again, face devoid of any expression. "A pity, then, that he should die so soon."

"What?" She stared, wide-eyed, her heart stilling for a moment, her skin going cold. "He… he's dead?"

Beckett turned the glass in his hand as he looked out at the _Dutchman_. "Shortly before your arrival, Mercer informed me that Admiral Norrington was killed last night."

"Killed? By who? Why?"

His eyes were cold, but somewhat amused. "Why does it matter to you?" She had no answer to give; Beckett turned back to the window. "Apparently, Norrington was caught freeing some recently-captured prisoners, and was stopped by one Jones' crewmen."

Squirrel stared out over the water, unable to believe what she was hearing. _Norrington… dead?_ She rested one hand on the sill, just so she could keep her balance. The world for her was turning upside-down, once more._ I was wrong about Norrington_, she thought, staring out into nothing. _I thought he was nothing more than a thief with no honour. I told him as much right before we parted. But… not too long ago, I hated Jack, and I was wrong about him. I was wrong about Norrington, too. I judged him too harshly. He… he died freeing prisoners from Beckett's cells…_ Squirrel closed her eyes a moment. _I'm so sorry, James Norrington. You went to your grave unforgiven…_

Outside the window, the _Dutchman_ sailed listlessly out of sight.

"The prisoners managed to escape, unfortunately." Beckett frowned slightly, and sipped at the sherry again, seeming not to notice Squirrel's grief. "Jones used the opportunity to try and reclaim the heart. He failed, ultimately. He forgets that he is no longer the master of his own destiny."

Squirrel's eyes snapped open, and her temper snapped as well. "I fail to see how someone like you ended up in charge of the Company," she said with venom. "I would have thought someone in your position should at least care about the people in his employ!"

Beckett was unperturbed. "What the East India Trading Company needed was someone with good business sense."

She laughed bitterly. "Good business sense? Or a mercenary one?"

"You may call it that if you wish."

"I think I shall." Squirrel gripped the crystal in her fingers, feeling if she held it much tighter that it would shatter. "After all, it's true in every sense of the word. It's highly profitable… and people die." She looked out over the water. The anger slowly bled out of her, and she lifted the glass in one hand. "To James Norrington," she murmured, then downed the whole glass in a single gulp. A salute for the dead.

Beckett watched her, eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought he was your enemy."

She swallowed the mouthful of sweet liquor, and wasn't surprised to feel not the least bit giddy. It wasn't anything compared to rum. "He was. But if he died fighting you, then he's redeemed himself. And, therefore, deserves to be mourned." She stared ruefully at the empty glass in her hands. "Though I should be drinking something a little stronger, for his sake." She turned away from the window, setting the glass down on a table as she passed by. There was a table lined with small figurines - she headed for that, picking up the painted metal toys one by one, examining them, turning them over in her hands, placing them back down again. Beckett remained on the far side of the room, still nursing his sherry, still watching her with an inscrutable expression.

Squirrel realised, oddly, that for the whole time she'd been in the room with him, Beckett had held himself distant, standing apart from her, keeping a defined space between them, as though he were judging her, studying her.

Reading her.

"You remind me very much of him," he said.

"Of who?"

"Of Jack Sparrow."

Squirrel snorted. "Coming from you, it's hard to tell if that's a compliment, or an insult." _It must be because I'm fiddling with things, unable to keep my hands still._ She moved away from the table of toy soldiers, examining instead the map that was posted on the wall behind the table. She'd never seen one so detailed, so well filled-in - only the lower segment of the map was left blank, and even then there were hints of a great south land, just barely sketched in. She stood by the map, reading the names of islands and oceans and continents.

Beckett smiled distantly, setting down his empty glass. "Of course."

There was a gun on the table beside her. Squirrel craned her head back, studying the map by all appearances, but was silently evaluating her chances, examining the gun out of the corner of her eye. _It might not be loaded._ _Even if it were, what would I do? Shooting Beckett would only alert the guards. And then what would become of me? And I have no idea how good my aim is with a gun - I could miss completely. First things first, I'd need to get out of the room…_

Beckett moved slowly across the room until he stood in front of the giant globe. He blocked her only possible route to the door. Squirrel felt so _relieved_ that she didn't have the option to escape.

"If it's all the same to you," she turned away from the gun and the map, and faced Beckett across the room, "I'd rather not be compared with him." She looked aside. "The only comparison that I will _allow_," she stressed the word, "Is what we are."

"And what are you?" Beckett looked lazily at her.

She smiled thinly. "I'm a pirate."

Beckett smiled back. "You're a woman in an unfortunate position, then."

She folded her arms. "I was not coerced or kidnapped, Beckett. This was a life I chose."

"As I said," he turned away from the globe and took a few steps in her direction, smooth and fluid as a panther. "An unfortunate position. You've chosen death."

"Funny," she unfolded her arms, smiling mockingly, "Seems like breakfast and sherry to me."

As Beckett smiled to himself and turned away, Squirrel couldn't help but turn Beckett's words back to him in her head. _You remind me of Jack. _She considered Beckett a moment, lips parted slightly. _Your word games, your subtle manipulation of the conversation, the very fact that you're here, chasing down a man in order to get your revenge. It's like I'm looking at Jack through some dark mirror. Beckett is what Jack might have been, had Jack chosen the law over freedom. There's so much difference between you and Jack, Beckett. And yet, those very differences make you two very similar. _

_And, of course, there's the fact that I can't read you, but you can see straight through me_.

"How do you two know each other?" She asked, watching him as he crossed the room yet again. "You and Captain Sparrow?"

If Beckett was irked that she used Jack's honorific and not his own, he didn't show it. "That is a story long in the telling."

"I like stories."

Beckett turned to face her. He considered her a long moment, then almost smiled. "Even tales of betrayal?"

"That man's betrayed everyone," she said evenly, folding her arms and pretending to examine the map again. "Even if you don't want to tell me about what happened, I'm guessing yours will be a story I've heard many times over."

"Hardly," his voice was low. "Jack Sparrow's lifetime of treachery began when he betrayed me."

"Huh," Squirrel tried not to shiver, "I wonder what you did to deserve it?" As soon as she said the words, she knew she'd gone too far. Squirrel sensed that making Beckett angry would be very dangerous indeed. She could practically feel the cold, controlled rage of Beckett against her back. Mentioning Jack was enough to make him angry, for certain. And he had the power to do anything. He'd just need to give the word. She was truly in the presence of a frightening man. But somehow, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

Any man in a story deserved her attention. And this man fascinated her.

"It certainly commends your patience," she said, tracing her fingers on the map, "If you can wait for ten years - or more - planning this." She managed a short chuckle. "Taking over the seas just so that you can get revenge on a single pirate. How… poetic." She glanced over her shoulder. "Your desire for revenge against Jack Sparrow knows no bounds, does it?"

"Some things are unavoidable."

_Given Jack, I'm not surprised_. "There'll be a war, you know," she said, "Even if you _somehow_ manage to defeat the Brethren Court, people aren't going to let you take over the seas. The Portuguese, the Spanish, the French, the Chinese… They won't take this lying down. They won't submit. They'll fight you too, eventually." She glanced at him. "And not just you, either. They'll fight England, and all her colonies."

"I have no doubt they will try." Beckett neared her, but maintained the distance between them. "But such ventures would be folly. You can't reach England without crossing the sea. And the seas are under my control."

"Only because you have Jones under your control." She considered the map again. "_Noblesse oblige_," she murmured.

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

She looked back at him. "My French is terrible - am I pronouncing it wrong? Noh-bless oh-bliee-jay? Naw-bless Oh-bleeze?"

Beckett smiled, and the words she had prepared failed her. In her mind the word _ke pa_ changed and danced with _ke qu_, and she wasn't quite sure which was which. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"If you presume to tell me that I have a responsibility - an obligation - you are quite correct. I am obligated to my King and country, and I have done all in my power to see that such obligations are fulfilled." He smiled. "If my own ends are met during such a course, then so much the better."

Her mouth was very dry. "'East India Trading Company' implies you should have stayed in the East Indies."

"If you want to increase your profits, you must look further afield. As a pirate, you should know this."

"Does that make you a pirate?"

The coldness in his eyes returned. "Hardly."

"Prove it then," she challenged, even as her logical mind screamed at her to hold her tongue. "Give me one example of how what you are doing is any different to what a pirate would have done."

He said nothing, did nothing. He blinked slowly, still pinning her with his gaze. Moments ticked by, and Squirrel felt colder and colder. And yet the chills were still up and down her spine. _Power is attractive, even in the wrong hands_. She chased that thought with a wry, _Why is it that I'm only attracted to men who have the power to hurt me?_

"I would have thought you would have more sense than to antagonise me." His green-grey eyes were cold. "You face the gallows."

Squirrel blanched a moment, then recovered. "Well, what do you want me to do? Beg for my life? I'd rather not ask _you_ for anything." She shrugged, palms wide. "And I certainly have nothing to barter with."

"Perhaps not." He considered her shrewdly, silent for a moment. "Would you betray your captain?"

Squirrel hesitated. "What?"

"He's betrayed you, has he not?" His words were as smooth as oil. "Obviously before, and quite clearly now. He's the one who will be responsible for the fall of the Pirate Lords. His actions - his betrayal - will bring about the end of _freedom_." He mocked the word. "And all in order to save his own skin." He smiled. "I can offer you security. A promise that will not be broken. You - and those you choose to save - will not be harmed. All it would take is a promise in return."

Squirrel gripped both hands into fists. _Betray the betrayer, save my friends._ _It_ _makes perfect sense. Cold, logical sense._ But she still struggled. After all, wasn't the man who was offering her this chance the same man who was responsible for all those poor souls adrift in the sea? _I called us missionaries for the Devil when Jones sent us to collect souls,_ Squirrel thought, _But Jones wasn't the Devil, was he? He was just a man cursed. The real Devil is the man standing in front of me_. She looked up at him.

"Go squat on a marlinspike."

Beckett laughed in his throat.

"I'm not going to betray anyone," she told him, glaring. "Shove _that_ where you will."

"Even to save yourself?"

She smiled thinly at him. "Just because Jack has no honour doesn't mean that I don't."

He smiled at her, half-shaking his head as though in exasperated amusement. "What's your name?"

_Oh, NOW you think to ask_. "I'm just a pirate. If you must call me anything, call me that."

"Well, then, _pirate_," he smiled, genial, "Perhaps I didn't make my offer clear enough. You will not just be saving your friends, but yourself as well. Surely you don't wish to die so soon?"

She tried to stop it, but the fear showed in her eyes.

"I'm offering you an opportunity to escape the noose."

"Oh? And what would an opportunity like _that_ entail?" But even as she asked the question, she knew exactly what he was going to say. She just couldn't believe it.

_You are curious as to why I am showing you courtesy?_ Fear and fascination crawled all over her skin, cold and cruel and taunting now. How much of a fool she'd been. She should have run when she had the chance. She should have _made_ herself a chance. The longer she'd stayed, the less she'd wanted to leave. And now she was faced with no choice at all. _Ke pa_ and _ke qu_ indeed.1

"You control the seas," she moved until she was standing directly in front of him, a silent challenge in itself, "You have wealth beyond imagining. You have power that men can scarce dream of. So, tell me, Beckett. What could a man who holds the world in his hand possibly want?"

If she'd asked anybody else the same question, she very well could have gotten the same answer from each of them. But the manner in which they answered would have been very different. Barbossa would have taken her hand like a gentleman, and smiled in a wry sardonic manner. Sao Feng would have taken her chin between her fingers, perhaps raked his claws across her face. Jack… she could just imagine him placing his hands on her hips, breathing gently on her lips for a kiss. Will might - might - have brushed his hand against her arm as he turned and walked away from her. But Beckett? Beckett just smiled at her, his eyes knowing. He never laid a hand on her. Yet that was somehow so much more than anything any other man could have done. The space that was between them radiated with tension; the room seemed smaller, crushingly so; Squirrel struggled to stay on her feet, struggled to maintain the bravado she didn't feel at all.

"What," he whispered, "Indeed?"

The doors suddenly burst open, and a man in a uniform entered the room. "Sir, we've…" He halted, awkward, at the sight of Beckett and Squirrel standing face-to-face. "Uh… my apologies, sir…"

Beckett didn't move; Squirrel didn't either. "What is it, Lieutenant Groves?"

"We…" The man glanced from one figure to the other, confused and embarrassed. "We picked up another one of the markers, sir."

"Very good, Lieutenant."

The man made an awkward bow, and started to back out of the room.

"Lieutenant," Beckett said, halting the man in his tracks, "Take this young woman to the brig. See that she's made comfortable."

Groves looked between Squirrel and Beckett. Neither of them had moved; Squirrel could only imagine what Groves was thinking. "Yes, sir."

Beckett turned away and went to the window, breaking the spell. Squirrel glared after him, not moving from where she stood, though she shook slightly, and her hands were crushed into fists. Groves went to her side, and took her by the arm. Squirrel allowed herself to be led to the door. She held her head high and kept her back straight.

"Groves?"

He turned back. "Yes, Lord Beckett?"

"Take her to the _Diana_."

_The Diana?_ Squirrel twitched, and then, she, too, turned back. _The __Diana?_

Beckett had also turned, and smirked at the look of surprise on her face. "I think she'll feel right at home."

Groves was still confused, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, sir."

Squirrel glared at Beckett a moment longer; he just smiled smugly until she was gently led away.

Every step down the corridor was like she was climbing out of the sea. It was hard going at first, but with each step it slowly became easier, less of a fight, less of a strain. She took and let out a heavy breath as soon as she was clear. It felt like the first free breath she'd taken in ages. Beckett's oppressive presence had been too much, too much to bear. She hadn't realised the full extent of it until she was far enough away from him.

The Lieutenant looked at her curiously, but said nothing. He most likely didn't know what to say.

As they stepped out into the dazzling sunlight, Squirrel halted. Groves and the soldiers moved on a few paces, then the Lieutenant realised that Squirrel was no longer with them.

"Miss?"

_An opportunity to escape the noose_. Squirrel stared down at her feet, cold all over. _So that's it then_, she thought. _Death, or a fate worse than that. Either way, Beckett controls my destiny now_. The thought made her angry, so very angry. _Control? Destiny?_ She lifted her head and looked around. She saw the sailors about their duties, saw the men-at-arms with their bayonets and uniforms, she saw Beckett's armada across the sea. So many ships. So many of them. Enough to overpower a whole country, if needs be. And amidst them all, listing back and forth like a caged beast, was the sea-encrusted shadow of the _Flying Dutchman_.

_Beckett may control the seas, _Squirrel thought viciously, _but he'll never control me. Never_._ I will live free, or not at all_. She remembered Norrington, who had died fighting. _Good man. Live - and die - your own, and no-one else's_. The voices of all of those men, women and children who had died started singing that old song, and Squirrel felt her blood stirring in response. She lifted her chin, and parted her lips.

…_Where we will, we'll roam_…

"Yo ho," she lifted her voice, singing to the tune of a funeral march as she paced across the deck, each step to the rhythm of hauling on ropes, "All hands! Hoist the colours high!" Her voice was loud and clear as a siren, and neither the words nor her steps faltered. "Heave, ho! Thieves and beggars! Never shall we die!" It was an old song. A song for pirates to sing. A song of defiance.

She paused to take a breath, and looked back over her shoulder. Beckett stood in the doorway, shrouded in the shadows. He smiled at her. Squirrel did not glare in return; she just sang. The song was challenge enough.

"_Never_ shall we die…"

Beckett smiled, then turned and vanished, swallowed up by the shadows. Squirrel didn't bother watching him leave; she turned her eyes to the fleet that surrounded her, and set her jaw.

* * *

1 Another Chinese pun, my apologies. _Ke pa_ - frightful. _Ke qu_ - desirable. It seemed appropos. 


	18. Escape

**Disclaimer**: I'm going to stop putting spoilers up here. They stopped making sense a long time ago.

**A/N**: Exams over, huzzah. Another chapter done, double-huzzah. Don't quite feel all that great about how this chapter turned out - it feels a little rushed - but then I guess that just reflects what happens then, aye? Enjoy.

* * *

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the prodigal returned to roost. And here I was thinking I'd never see you again." 

Squirrel sighed in exaggerated weariness as the man with the scars on his throat swaggered towards her. "Never though I'd have the same misfortune," she closed one eye sardonically. "Seeing your face once was bad enough."

The captain's face twisted sourly. "Your manners have deteriorated since last we spoke, Miss Jane Fairfax."

Squirrel shrugged. "Can't be helped, I suppose." She glanced around the ship, her disinterest in the man with the scarred throat not entirely feigned. It was certainly odd to be back here again. The _Diana_ was just how she remembered it, but… not at all. There were too many faces about her; it was too crowded. Many of these faces were familiar to Squirrel - men she'd last seen climbing sullenly into boats while a blade had been pressed against her throat - but none were friendly. The men in the rigging peered at her, men on the deck nudged each other and muttered with either scowls or leers. A man in a blue coat briefly lifted his eyes to peer through his bangs at her, then returned his gaze to the deck, continuing to holy-stone while the others around him let their eyes linger a little while longer.

When Squirrel turned her eyes back, she saw the first mate standing behind the captain, his eyes hurt and accusing. _What was his name again?_ Squirrel wondered,_ Thompson? No, Davidson, that was it. Thomas Davidson. _She smiled placidly at him. The expression in his eyes deepened.

"'S good to see you got your ship back, captain," Squirrel turned her eyes lazily back to the scarred man. "Thankyou for letting us borrow it." Somewhere on the ship, someone gently laughed. It was as faint as a sea-breeze, and Squirrel couldn't be quite sure if she'd imagined it or not.

The captain's eyes narrowed. "Don't think you can play your games here, Miss Jane. No-one's here to protect you."

Squirrel laughed. "What makes you think I need protecting? Last time we met, I fooled you all by myself. And then, when that wasn't enough, you were beaten in battle by an old man with a sword." She grinned as a vein stood out on the captain's forehead.

"Very brash, Miss Jane, to think you can beat me with your words."

"Funny," she grinned, "I won the last round that way, didn't I?"

Here, the captain smirked. "Actually, the 'last round' you made the mistake of handing over a Company ship to a Company crew." He jerked his head to indicate the _Diana_, and smiled at the confused eyebrow Squirrel raised. "Does the name Hamilton mean anything to you?"

Squirrel had to fight to keep the scowl from her face. _That fat fool? Well, he did admit to working for the Company. That should have been my first clue that Beckett's men were already on the island. No wonder Barbossa was in a hurry to meet Sao Feng personally; he couldn't afford the two or three day's wait that would have been involved in my plan. Hamilton, huh? He seemed harmless enough, but I'm guessing that's the only reason he was sent to seek us out. And I believed him. To be so easily tricked by a man like that… I'm an idiot._ Squirrel sighed and shook her head in exasperation. "Figures. Try to do a good deed, and it comes back to bite you on the arse."

The captain's smile was cold, and his eyes triumphant. "Perhaps it wouldn't be as hard if you weren't so duplicitous."

"Duplicitous? Me?" Squirrel looked shocked. "You wound me, sir. I'm honest as the sea." Again came the sound of faint laughter, this time somewhat muffled.

The captain heard nothing, evidently. "Yet you introduced yourself last you were aboard as 'Sarah Fairfax'. I just called you 'Jane', and you didn't even bother to correct me."

Squirrel paused a moment, then cast her mind back. "Ah. Yes. 'Course." _Dammit_. She smiled politely. "A simple mistake."

"Having trouble keeping track of all your lies, are you, _pirate_?" He sneered smugly.

She shrugged again. "Well, what's worse? Having names you can't keep track of, or a single name you can't even remember?" She smiled. "By the way, I don't think we've been introduced, formally."

The captain frowned at her, perplexed a moment. Then he offered her a tight, cold smile. "There's no sense in sharing my name with the likes of you, _pirate_."

Squirrel shrugged. "Suit yourself, cap'n. Doesn't make me think any less of you."

He seemed impressed by her reply, even if it was grudging. "You're quite sharp, Miss Fairfax. A pity you fight for the wrong side."

"There's nothing 'wrong' about it," she told him flatly, the smile gone from her face. "If you could possibly count the number of dead that lie at the base of the Company flag, or see just how much blood is on your hands, you might reconsider your position as the one 'in the right'."

Davidson flinched behind the captain, but the captain himself was untouched by her bold words. "You and your kind," he sneered, leaning down towards her, "Are a blight on the prosperity of the economy, and on all the civilised nations of the world. No-one will mourn your passing."

_Bastard_. Squirrel closed one eye in disgust. "I'm not afraid of you, captain," she murmured, "Nor am I afraid of death." She half-smiled, half-sneered. "If I die, at least I die with sins absolved and motives pure. Can you say the same?"

In the strained, tense silence that followed, Groves awkwardly cleared his throat. "Lord Beckett has ordered that she be taken to the brig, captain."

The captain's steely eyes turned dismissively from Squirrel. "So be it. Take her below, Davidson." He turned and walked away, leaving Squirrel alone on the deck, surrounded by men with hard eyes and unkind intentions.

* * *

The hold smelled foul. Tia had taken to hanging bunches of lemongrass and cinnamon around, back when the ship had been their home, but the sharp green scent and the gentle brown spice were long gone from the air. Now all the _Diana_ smelled of sweat and filth and bilgewater and mould. Squirrel felt sorry for the ship, and was surprised she was able to muster up more pity for the _Diana_ than for herself. 

The soldiers opened the cell door, and went to push her inside. But Squirrel walked in, head held high, and stood in the centre of the cell, staring at the opposite wall as they shut and locked the door behind her.

"Thankyou, Lieutenant," Davidson said softly. "Let Lord Beckett know that his orders have been carried out." There were the sound of military footsteps ascending out of the hold, and then silence. Groves and the soldiers were gone, but Squirrel knew she wasn't alone.

"Sarah, look at me."

Squirrel turned slowly round, one eye closed.

Thomas had the bars in his hands, and was peering through at her, wounded and confused. "You lied," he murmured, "You lied to me."

She mouthed the words to the wall, did not speak them. "_Pot, meet kettle_."

Thomas shook his head in disbelief, as though it were impossible to imagine a woman lying. "Tell me, do you feel remorse for what you did?"

Squirrel narrowed her one open eye at him. "I've already eaten, Davidson, so don't feed me your hypocrisy."

"What hypocrisy?" He pressed closer to the bars, as though intending to bring himself nearer to Squirrel. "What are you talking about?"

"You lied too," Squirrel told him crisply, moving a miniscule inch closer. "You told us Port Royal was a haven for pirates. You told us Tortuga was safe. You told us Norrington was a bastard of a man. You even told us Beckett's fleet was made up of former pirates. Shall I continue?" She glared. "'Decent, respectable men of the Company', you told me you were. Yet that whole time, you were nothing more than a filthy mercenary, and a dirty spy."

His hands knuckled into fists around the metal; he pulled back and stared down at his feet a moment. "I assure you, Sarah, I had no idea…"

"What? That we were the pirates?" She laughed. "You'd been sent by Beckett to find Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, and all the pirates they travelled with. You'd been ordered by Beckett to hunt us down." She stepped towards him, but kept just out of his reach. "Tell me I'm wrong," she lowered her voice, "And I'll apologise."

But the first mate didn't lift his head, and his eyes roved guiltily over the shadows on the floor.

Squirrel snorted. "Thought so." She turned her head and folded her arms. It all made sense, really. The captain's suspicion at the names of Will and Elizabeth, despite the fact Squirrel claimed another surname for them both, had been a result of his orders. He'd been hunting pirates, not a family of castaways; the names 'Will' and 'Elizabeth' were common enough, besides. But he'd known, nevertheless. Perhaps that's why he'd shown hospitality to them: just so he could lock them all up and ship them back. And not to forget the way that they'd not met any East India Company ships while sailing through the East Indies was nothing more than a clever trap set and baited by the captain of the _Diana_, and likely Beckett himself.

Thomas opened his mouth. There was the sound of someone coming down the stairs, and the first mate closed his mouth, saying nothing. Squirrel glanced sidelong through the dark, and saw the swabbie in the blue coat descending into the hold, carrying a bucket and a mop. She turned back to Davidson.

"Yes," she told him, "I lied. And I do feel remorse. Which of us is the bigger sinner, Thomas? The one who does what she thinks is right? Or the one who just does what he's told?"

Thomas bowed his head again. The swabbie set down the bucket and started mopping the floors in the distant darkness, his back to the cells.

"Did you believe everything you told us," Squirrel looked back to the first mate, focusing both eyes on him, "Or were you just trying to impress me?" He looked utterly miserable. Squirrel read him like a sheet of paper, and sighed. _Enough of this_, she thought, _he's not my enemy here_. "It's alright, Thomas," she whispered. "I forgive you."

Thomas looked up at her, surprised. "Beg your pardon?"

"I forgive you," she repeated. "It doesn't matter; it's done. I forgive you." She bowed her head and took a step back. "Whether you forgive me or not is another matter entirely." She gave him a thin smile.

The first mate smile weakly, fondly, back at her, then a look of pain crossed his face. "Sarah…"

"My name's not Sarah," she corrected.

"Whoever you are, then," he murmured, "You… you don't deserve this."

"Maybe I do," she murmured. "After all, I've sins of my own you don't know of." She smiled again. "I am a pirate, after all."

"No," he told her, "You're not like them. You're different."

Squirrel fought not to roll her eyes, but she couldn't help but be touched by his simple chivalry. "Different enough that I'm exactly the same, Thomas. I'm a pirate. And now, Beckett's prisoner." She smiled. "You know how that's going to end, don't you?" _Oh, if only you knew._

Thomas' hands clenched on the metal bars. "I'll do everything I can to see you get a fair trial."

Squirrel looked at the man, pityingly, as though he were the one who would suffer and not she. "Beckett has no intention of putting me to trial," she told him, and almost flinched at how truthful that statement was. "Besides, I'm a pirate. The only thing I'm going to get is a large audience at my hanging."

He shook his head, disbelief, denial. "But you're a woman."

Squirrel sighed, a cold sea-breeze of a sigh. "Men, women and children alike have hung from the leafless tree at Beckett's order. I'll be no different." _I chose to fight him, so death is my fate. The other alternative is life, but life in a cage. I couldn't stand that. So freedom - and death - it is._

"You could…"

"No." She held up a palm, silencing him. "There's nothing you can do for me, Thomas Davidson." She smiled, faint and sad. "Just… go."

He lingered a moment, eyes locked with hers, then screwed his eyes shut in self-reproach. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself away from the bars, and slowly climbed the stairs, head bowed and face expressing his conflicting emotions.

Squirrel watched him go, then sighed heavily and leant her head against the bars. _Things weren't this complicated when people just told me I was useless_. She smiled wryly and closed her eyes. _Not that I miss those days, 'course_.

The hold was silent, except for the sound of the swabbie's mop sweeping back and forth. Squirrel followed the rhythm in her mind, and almost started humming a familiar tune. But she needn't have bothered, because the swabbie himself lifted his voice, speaking to the sound of his chore.

"January, February, March…" He hummed a moment, "…July, August, September, October, November, December."

Squirrel, her eyes still closed and head still resting against the metal, called out with a wry smile, "I think you missed a spot."

"Seems I did," the swabbie said, setting his mop aside, "But I think I already guessed those, aye?"

Squirrel laughed quietly to herself. "I knew it was you." She smiled, lifted her head, and opened her eyes. The swabbie came out of the shadows, and Squirrel's smile vanished in a horrified gasp. "Sam, what happened to you?"

"What? I en't my usual pretty self, then?" Sam touched his face gingerly. "Oh, aye, that." He smiled sheepishly, and the yellow-and-purple blotches of a week-old black eye seemed to glow faintly in the light. "Apparently I'm a pirate by association. The Company don't teeke kindly t' those sorts 'a folk."

She frowned, concerned and incredulous. "But… but you were gone over a month ago… And you're still alive? How?"

Sam sighed shortly. "Only thing that came 'tween me an' a hempen jig were the fact that there are men aboard this ship I've sailed with before. I weren't always a pirate, y'know. It's only a recent career path." He rubbed his unshaven chin with a rueful smile. "The Company lads here just like t' teeke the time t' make sure that I know just how lucky I am t' still be alive."

Squirrel reached through the bars and cupped her hands around his face. "Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry."

He smiled. "Don' be, _a stór_. They were a lot kinder than they could'a been, trust me."

"But if I hadn't…" Squirrel took her hands back, slowly. "If we hadn't left you, you wouldn't be here." She leaned against the bars, her face pressed as close to free air - and to him - as she could manage.

"Exactly," Sam said, adjusting the collar and sleeves of his blue coat. "Wouldn't be here t' help yeh now, it would be."

"I…" Squirrel stared, and even in the shadows she could see the stitching on the hems of the sleeves. One hundred white lines. "Wait, that's mine. That's my coat you're wearing."

"Aye," he grinned. "I knew yeh'd be back fer it, I did." His grin widened, and he came closer, as though there weren't any bars separating them. "An' look at this! Here yeh are."

Squirrel smiled fondly at him. "Yes, here I am." She considered him. "But you can keep it," she said, brushing her hands across the collar of the coat, adjusting it slightly. "It looks good on you."

"Stop it, _a stór_, yeh're meekin' me blush."

Squirrel couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Sam, it's good to see you again."

"It's good to see yeh too, Miss Grey," he took hold of both her hands in his own, as though to assure himself she was really there. "Yeh know what they say about bein' away from t' comp'ny of the one yeh love."

Squirrel lifted an eyebrow teasingly. "What, 'out of sight, out of mind'?"

He smiled, then mock-glowered. "No, th' other one." Sam glanced surreptitiously to the stairs. "An' now," he whispered, pulling a rusty marlinspike from under the coat, "I'm gettin' yeh out." He drew back his arm, ready to strike at the hinges.

"Wait, Séamus, _no_."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow at her incredulously. "I refuse t' b'leeve that you, of all people, should want t' steey in a cage."

"What's the good of getting me out now?" She asked. "We're on a ship, trapped in the middle of Beckett's armada, with the _Flying Dutchman_ circling like a hungry shark." She sighed. "Then there's the fact that if you break down the doors, they're going to hear you, and then cage us both."

Sam slowly lowered the marlinspike. "Aye, I knoo," he sighed. "But the cap'n keeps the keys on his person, so there's no chance of me freein' yeh all subtle-like."

_The keys?_ Squirrel smothered a smile. "Think about that later. First of all, how would you get us off the _Diana_?"

He frowned a moment. "Well, given my new station aboard this fine vessel," the biting sarcasm was evident, and Squirrel smiled at it, "I was thinkin' I could spend a while cleanin' out the lifeboats. Y'know, bring 'em to the deck, scrub 'em clean, then tie 'em back up and over the side again." He grinned at her. "But given I'm a clumsy fool, one of the lines might not be tied tight enough? One longboat could just possibly… slip loose?"

Squirrel smiled. "You may be a fool, Séamus Flynn, but you're a cunning one." She reached into her bedraggled, salt-encrusted hair. "You'd best go do that then. And quickly."

His face went stony. "No, I can't. Not 'til I know you're out of there."

"Then I'm out." She untied the key from the braid, and held it up for his inspection.

He gaped a moment, then scowled playfully at her. "Bloody hell, _a stór_, are yeh ever goin' t' let me be a hero?"

"There's a chance yet, paddy," she reached through the bars and fit the key into the lock, and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the _Diana_'s cells had been of the same make as the _Pearl_'s. "But let's get us out of here first."

* * *

The _Diana_ had been fitted with new cannons. It wast with a sense of dread that Squirrel noted that these new weapons were of the make that destroyed ships' hulls with a few direct hits. Heavy artillery that would and could sink caravels much larger than the _Diana_. Squirrel crouched down, small and still as she could manage, between two of these cannons, watching and praying in the shadows as the minutes ticked by. 

The bell rang, and the watch changed. Men roused themselves and went above, while weary men went below. None glanced in Squirrel's direction, so certain were they that nothing was out of the ordinary. But Squirrel twitched at every step, every miniscule movement made by the passing crewmen. They would have seen her, dressed in white as she was, and raised the alarm.

But they didn't, and when the hold was silent again, she let out a heavy and silent sigh of relief.

Wood scraped on wood, and then there was a polite knock on the cannonport. Squirrel pushed it open.

"Hurry," Sam hissed at her, "'fore they notice."

"Wait," she reached back behind her, and pushed through two of the swabs, the long cloth-headed sticks that were used to load the cannon.

"What on earth…"

"Just take them!" She hissed. When she was sure that he had, she pushed the cannonport a little further open, then slithered through, feet first, landing silently in the bottom of the longboat. Sam gave her a strange look; she smiled at him weakly, then they both hauled on their lines, as silently as they could. Slowly, the longboat murmured its way down to the ocean.

It seemed as though this was something that should have been done in the dead of night, while there was no risk of being seen by even the most obtuse of sailors. Noon was no time for subterfuge or secrecy. But they had no choice, either of them: Squirrel wanted away as soon as possible, and Sam wanted what Squirrel did, and wanted her safe as well. They had to get away then and there, despite the risks involved.

As soon as the boat hit the water and the lines snaked free of their moorings, the boat started to drift. Sam lay down, pushing aside the cannon-sticks and oars to make more room, while Squirrel lay down behind him, pulling Sam's coat over the both of them.

"Sorry it's not bigger," he said, awkwardly, as Squirrel pressed low into the boat, and - by association - close to Sam.

"There's more room here than in the noose," she commented, too on-edge to feel self-conscious. She rested her forehead against the back of Sam's neck, palms pressed against his back, and counted as the seconds ticked by. Slowly, the sounds of the ship faded away, faded into whispers, then barely that. And then, silence.

But still they waited. If they moved before they'd drifted far enough, there was a chance that the motion would attract attention. They had to wait. Wait, and pray.

Finally, Sam lifted his head, and peered out from under the cover of the coat. "Bloody hell," he whispered. Squirrel lifted her head too, peering through to daylight under the cover of the coat. She gasped.

The sea was thick with Beckett's vessels.

"I never saw more'n ten while I were workin'," the Irishman stared out across the water. "But there's got t' be at least thirty there now."

"Thirty four," Squirrel whispered back, her eyes flickering across the water, reading the scope of what she could see just as any game. The _Dutchman_ hove into view across the distance. "Get down." After a few moments lying still and silent, Squirrel checked again. The cursed ship was not chasing anything. It was just veering back and forth between Beckett's fleet, a listless caged animal. "I think we're safe."

Sam carefully sat up, still crouched low in the boat. "Safe is a matter of opinion, _a stór_." He whistled through his teeth, surprised. "We've come a fair way."

They'd drifted at least a league from the _Diana_ and the rest of Beckett's fleet. Squirrel smirked. "We've got a good current." She glanced at the water to the port and to the starboard of their lifeboat, as well as off into the distance, and smiled again, this time with the smirk of a sibyl. _What a delightful 'coincidence' this is…_

As Squirrel pulled herself to a kneeling position, Sam looked across the water. "Though, they should be chasin' their stray longboats for a while. Let all the ones on the starboard side adrift, I did. Thought it might help us away."

"And you were right," Squirrel frowned across the water. "They don't even seem to have noticed we're gone."

"Even if they did," Sam picked up his oar and set it into place, "They wouldn't break rank t' chase us. The _Endeavour_ goes first 'n' foremost, and it's not goin' anywhere fast with the mainmast still needin' repairs." He grinned at Squirrel. "Whoever it was of yours aboard your black ship, _a stór_, he sure made a mess of things when he left Beckett behind." He grinned.

Squirrel managed a wry smile, but she couldn't help but feel a little ill at the reminder. _Jack. Well, at least you bought us some time. Or was it just time you bought yourself?_

"Either they're haven't seen us…" Squirrel frowned across to where Beckett's ship was, "Or they're letting us go."

"I doubt they'd let two pirate prisoners free. Not when they're this close to catchin' distance." He squinted across the water. "But then again, they got bigger fish to fry, aye?"

"Aye," Squirrel said, doubtfully. _You wouldn't let me go, Beckett. Would you?_ She bit her lip in thought. _If you are letting us go, it's because you know that I have nowhere else to go but back to the _Black Pearl_. And the captain I cannot betray. Back to where you know you'll find me again._

"Well then," Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "This is your vessel now, seein' as how yeh wouldn't let me rescue yeh all by meself. So… where are we goin'?"

Squirrel kept a wary eye on the ships as she readied her oar. "To Shipwreck Cove, of course."

Sam blinked, then gave a heavy sigh. "_A stór_, need I remind you that that is exactly where Beckett his own self is headed?"

"I know," she said.

"In that case, why not just stay in the cell? I mean, if he's headed there anyway it would have saved us the bother."

"Well, you seemed in such a hurry to be a hero I hated to put a damper on your enthusiasm." Squirrel smiled, then the smile vanished. She gripped the oar until her knuckles turned white. "I wasn't going to stay on his ship, anyway."

He saw the fearful determination in her eyes, and understood. "To Shipwreck Cove, then?"

Squirrel nodded. "And maybe we'll find the _Pearl_ on the way."

"The _Pearl_?" Sam looked to Squirrel. "That the name of your ship?"

Squirrel sighed. "It's not mine. It's just the one I serve on."

"Oh, aye?" He looked at her. "And… who would the captain of that ship be?"

She bowed her head a moment, and closed her eyes. "Jack," she whispered.

He knew immediately, just from the way she'd said his name. "Your man."

Squirrel looked at the Irishman, but he had turned his face back to the horizon, and had set his jaw. "Sam…"

"It's still complicated?" He glanced at her, fond and pitying.

She looked to him, wanting to give him something, but sighed as she realised there wasn't enough to give.

A rueful smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "It's alright, _a stór_." He sighed. "I wouldn't want t'…"

"Sam…"

"Aye. I'm sorry." He sighed wearily, then glanced back at her. "This jack tar of yours better be worth it, 'coz at the moment all I feel like is punchin' him in the face."

Squirrel laughed softly. "He has that effect on people."

There was silence a moment. Then Sam leaned on his oar, ready to begin rowing. "Well, _a stór_, even with this favourable sea, we can't hope to catch up to a ship in full sail. I hate t' say it, but it's true."

"Maybe it's true just as we are." She picked up Sam's coat and one of the swabs. "But what if we had a sail of our own?" She slid the swabs up the sleeves of the coat, one pole for each sleeve, then buttoned off the open end of the sleeves so they wouldn't slip off. The result looked something like a scarecrow, a spreadeagled coat hanging by its arms from two poles. Sam whistled.

"Clever," he marvelled. "Wouldn'ta thought o' that meself."

Squirrel smiled, sibyl-like once more. "Now we have oars, a sail, and a favourable current that'll take us right past Beckett."

He raised an eyebrow again. "Currents don't do that."

"This one does." She pointed across the water as she jammed the sail-scarecrow in place behind them. "See those barrels in the distance? That marks a trail to our ship. The current that is bringing Beckett this trail is what he's struggling against. The one we're on is pushing us in the opposite direction: towards the _Pearl_." She grinned. Behind them, the coat filled with air, struggling urgently within the confines of its shape as though emphasising the speed that was needed. The longboat moved more swiftly across the water.

Sam grinned. "I'm feelin' a little more optimistic about our situation now."

"Of course you are," Squirrel grinned, readying her oar. "Is there anything else you'd like, Master Flynn?"

Sam smiled faintly. "I can think of a few things." He looked with grim face across the water, squinting through the golden glare.

Squirrel looked out across the water. Beckett's ships were shrinking like toys into the distance. This current was swift; in not even half an hour they'd been taken at least three leagues. The sun beat down on them both, and cruelly too. They would not have an easy journey. Even if they managed to avoid notice of Beckett and Jones both, there was the sun and the weather to contend with. They'd had no chance to steal supplies from the galley, and the coat which could have provided shelter was needed as the sail. All they had was the clothes on their backs.

"You were a praying man, Séamus Flynn." Squirrel looked at him. "Are you still?"

Sam looked thoughtful, then smiled. "Aye, o' course."

She smiled back. "Then that's all the extra help we'll need. Now, put your back into it!" She started rowing, and Sam with her.

Across the water that shone gold and white in the fierce noon light, the _Flying Dutchman_ and Beckett's armada sailed on, seemingly following after a tiny longboat with a coat for a sail.

* * *

**A/N**: Try it. The coat-sail works. 


	19. Going Home

**Disclaimer**: It were not meant to be, alas.

**A/N**: Interludal. This part needed a chapter of its own, even though, technically speaking, it should have been tacked onto the last chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

There was no singing, there were no jokes, there weren't even words to pass between them. Their breath was needed for other things. They rowed until their arms ached, and still onwards until their bodies screamed for rest or respite, and still onwards until Squirrel couldn't feel anything at all except the circular motion of the oar, as though it were the sea pulling at her and not the other way around. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like a piece of lead; her whole body was weighed down by exhaustion. If she stopped now, if she lay down for even a moment's rest, she knew that she would never get up again.

And still they rowed, for they were not safe yet.

The noonday sun had grown much more unforgiving as it slowly crossed westwards. The heat had seared both fugitives' skins red; it made them sweat out what precious little water they had. They were soaked to the skin and desperate for something to quench their thirst at the same time. Sam and Squirrel's stomachs had given up growling a long time ago. Now they were just hollow stones under their ribs. Their arms shook; their bodies swayed. The air was blurred, and everything seemed to lie under a strange haze.

But Squirrel refused to let herself think that she was dying. She didn't think at all, just hauled on the oar, her entire existence focused on that single task.

_The Pearl. The Black Pearl. Shipwreck Cove. Shipwreck Cove. The Black Pearl._

The fleet of the East India Trading Company had shrunk to thumbnail-sized specks on the horizon, and none had given chase to the escapees, not even the _Dutchman_. The current had pulled them port-ways of the fleet before propelling them forward, but there was no way of knowing whether this current was still pulling them in a straight line. Or even towards the _Black Pearl_. Squirrel had lost sight of the barrels a long time ago - given the current, she could hope and pray that they were still going in the right direction. Beckett's ships were too far away to see, too far for Squirrel to perhaps readjust course depending on where all those ships seemed to be headed. The glare of the sun obliterated everything, made her blind. All she knew was the oar in her hands, and the stubborn mass of dead weight that was her body.

Sam didn't seem to be faring much better. His breathing was even more ragged than hers.

Hours and leagues later, the favourable wind that had been following them died, leaving the two of them with the oars and the current alone. By the time the sun was beginning to rest on the surface of the sea, they had nothing but the current. The stars were bright overhead, and the hours of the night had passed with the leagues, when Sam stopped, his oar digging uselessly into the salt waves, and stared blearily out across the darkness. He was swaying where he sat, and his eyes were unfocused.

"_A stór_," he croaked, his voice worn to shreds by the unkindness of the distance and the time and the sun and pain, "Yeh… did yeh… ever fin' yeh… neeme?"

Squirrel kept rowing. She couldn't stop, even if he did. "No," she panted back. "I… didn't…"

"Oh…" Sam nodded, head bobbing like a puppet on a string. "I'm… sss… sss-sorry…" He slumped forward over his oar, eyes rolling closed. His hands slipped free of the oar.

"Don't… stop now, Sam," she rasped at him, "Don't give… up now…"

The Irishman didn't reply, didn't even open his eyes. Slowly, he slid sideways, resting against Squirrel as though for support, then toppled forward into the bottom of the boat, where he lay, unmoving.

"Stupid… paddy!" Squirrel barked at him, finally stopping. "Get up!"

She kicked him. He didn't move.

"I can't… do this… on my own, Sheem… Get up."

Nothing.

"Sam," she forced her hands to unlock from around her oar, then knelt down over him. "Wake up." She shook him gently by the shoulder. "Come on… paddy… wake up…" He didn't respond. Squirrel stared at him a moment, blinking blearily through exhaustion and denial. "Sam, get up!" She shook him again, a little more insistently. "Sam! Sam!"

Dull animal fear crept slowly across the dark waters, and dug its claws into Squirrel's heart. She shook Sam again, croaking and bellowing like she had when she had when she was lost in a drunken stupor. But while then her voice had suffered from overindulgence, here her voice was crippled from deprivation.

"Sam! No! Wake up Sam!" But he didn't move, no matter how much she shook him. Squirrel sat back on her haunches and gave a feeble keening cry. "No," she said, turning her eyes frantically over the waters. "Please!" She tried to lift her face to the sky, but the muscles in her shoulders and neck were knotted tighter than stones, and she could not. Searing pain racked her, and she lost her balance. She fell forward, almost coming to lie beside the still and silent Irishman.

"Please," she sobbed, though she had no tears and barely breath enough to be her voice, "No, don't… let…" She couldn't look up to the sky, and so she directed her prayer to the planking of the longboat. "Please… _Please_…" There was no immediate answer, none that she could see. Squirrel sobbed again, then hauled herself back onto the seat. Then, with shaking arms, she took hold of both the oars, and feebly tried to row onwards. She didn't have a choice. She had to keep going, had to reach the _Pearl_, had to keep going…

"Help," Squirrel moaned, eyes on the unmoving man at her feet while her words went heavenward, "Please help…"

Her body failed her, just as Sam's had failed his. She wasn't strong enough. Not like this. Her arms fell to her sides, and she rolled forward once again, and landed kneeling. Sam didn't stir himself to catch her. He didn't move.

Squirrel started to sing, as though the sound of her voice would rouse the sailor beside her. "If I… were a blackbird," she forced the song out, even though the words were nothing more than a strained whisper, and there was no tune at all to them, "Could… whistle and sing…I would follow… the vessel… my true love sails in…" She slumped forward, leaning against the side of the boat. One of her arms fell into the sea, and she didn't have the will or the strength to lift it up again. "I would… follow… In the… top rigging…" She closed her eyes, breath rattling in her throat. "Sam, please… wake up…" Her eyes stung and her head spun. "I have… to tell you… my name… Wake up… Please."

Sam didn't stir.

Squirrel stared at him, a long while, she sitting just as unmoving as he was. Then she turned around, and pulled the coat-sail from its moorings. One of the swabs slipped out and splashed into the water, leaving Squirrel struggling weakly to hold the too-heavy coat in her too-weak arms by the one pole.

"Help," she croaked out at the darkness. "Help, please." Feebly, she waved the coat back and forth like a flag. But the movements were restricted by her weakness, and by the way the world was spinning around her. "_Help_…"

The pole slipped from her hands; the coat slumped down and deflated over the abandoned handles of the oars. Squirrel's strength had finally gave out. She fell and landed on top of Sam, her arms embracing him even as she lost her grip on the world. She had nothing left… And she'd failed.

She heard a splash and a groan as she closed her eyes. Had she been aware, she would have noted that the groan came from her own lips, while the splash came from somewhere in the darkness.

"Sam," she croaked to the man lying under her, "Please…" Her head lolled, and she surrendered at last to the darkness. Delirious sleep stole in to claim her. She drifted, barely even aware of her own body anymore. It was strange how she felt so weightless, so unbound by her mortal form. She'd felt similar to this before, once, when she'd been foolish enough to drink a whole bottle of _shou_. But this was… different, somehow. A drifting away that had nothing to do with dreams.

She heard voices, and splashes, and saw warm light burning through her eyelids in short bursts. She felt hands close around her neck, and then felt herself being lifted up in someone's arms. The light that she could see through her eyelids brightened, and continued to do so. Some distant part of her knew what was happening, and if she had been aware of herself, she might sobbed with relief.

Death wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

She felt the world spin dangerously, suddenly, as she was thrown across someone's shoulders. Like a sack of potatoes. The air smelled familiar, but she had no way of knowing how she knew. More voices, louder now, and more of them. They were calling her name.

"Squirrel!"

"Squirrel?"

"Miss!"

As she was laid down on solid ground, an authoritative voice barked, "Move aside, ye sap-headed flock o' clotpoles! Give 'er some air!"

_What? _For a moment, Squirrel stopped feeling insubstantial. She forced herself to open her eyes, and saw nothing but a circle of blurry faces around her, standing over her, looking down on her. By opening her eyes, however, she seemed to drag herself back out of the air, and back into the body which ached and burned with pain and weariness. She groaned and closed her eyes again.

"She's alive!"

"Aye," the authoritative speaker confirmed grimly, "But in a sorry state, make no mistake o' that. You two, get some water, quick."

"Is that Flynn?"

"Aye, it is."

"What's he doing here?"

"Is he…?"

"Get out of the way," someone rushed forward; Squirrel heard their impatient footsteps, heard the sound of people being pushed aside. "Move!" She felt somone leaning over her. "Squirrel? Can you hear me? Squirrel?" She didn't move - she couldn't. She was picked up, hauled to her feet, and was held in the arms of the speaker. Her hung as limp as a ragdoll, unable to control any part of herself. Unwilling to do so. She was just in so much pain…

"Let her lie," The authoritative voice scolded. "Can't ye see what a state she's in?"

But the one who held her ignored them. "Squirrel? Answer me, girl." He shook her, gently, securing his grip around her limp and lifeless body. "Come on, luv, they said you was breathing." She was pressed against his chest, heard his heartbeat while he whispered in her ear. His voice softened til it was almost recognisable. "Wake up, Squirrel. _Please_."

_Please?_ Squirrel's head lolled, lifting up for a moment before falling again. She strained herself, and felt her limbs start to move. On foot, then the other, pressed against the ground, solid and sure enough that she was standing. Standing with the help of the one who held her, of course - she wouldn't have been able to do so on her own. But she was standing. She was standing. Slowly, with the surety of the ground beneath her, Squirrel forced her eyes open.

Faces. She knew these faces. She knew this ship. It seemed like hours dragged by as she surveyed her surroundings, saw the concerned and relieved expressions of those around her. Her family. She wasn't dead, but she certainly was home. She turned and peered up at the one who held her, and found herself looking into Jack Sparrow's deep fathomless eyes. She could read him in this moment - relief unbounded, and fears banished. She was safe, and he was glad. He was _more_ than glad.

And then remembering hit her, and Squirrel gave a feeble bleat.

"What she say?"

"I don't… I don't know."

Squirrel struggled, throwing her head around, trying to see behind her. "Sam," she gasped, "Sss-ss-Sam…"

The Irishman lay unconscious on the deck, with Gibbs kneeling over him. She threw a hand weakly towards Sam, flailing in his direction, trying to ask without her voice. But they didn't understand.

"It's alright, luv," Jack tried to soothe her, holding her more tightly to his chest, "You're alright now."

But she shook her head and moaned all the more. "Saaam," she groaned. "Sam!"

Gibbs cupped his hands over the Irishman's mouth and nose, and waited a moment. Then he looked between the two captains with a concerned expression. Squirrel's groans got louder, and Jack had some trouble with her feeble flailing. He tried to shush her, tried to hold her still, but she didn't.

"Move," Barbossa knelt down and Gibbs shuffled dutifully out of the way. The captain loosened Sam's neckscarf, then pressed his fingers into the man's neck. The monkey on his shoulder chewed its tail fearfully. After a moment, Barbossa looked up.

"He's alive," he told Squirrel.

Squirrel panted, because it felt like a huge black stone had been taken out of her. _He's alive_. And then Jack had to struggle to hold her upright, because the girl in his arms had lost consciousness, fainting with a relieved smile on her face.

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**A/N**: You know how a song comes on the radio and it's just perfect for the situation? I'm hijacking Brooke Fraser's album 'What To Do With Daylight' for Squirrel, particularly the first song on the CD. _Arithmetic_. Even the title is bloody perfect for the girl! Listen and marvel. 


	20. Waking

**Disclaimer**: The bell has been raised from its watery grave…

**A/N**: I'm getting into the parts of the story I'm really looking forward to telling. Complications of drama and loyalties, huzzah! AWE ended dramatically, and I'm looking forward if I can do the same with this saga. Anyhoo, hope you like. Includes a reference to S: D chapter 10, in case you were wondering. Cheers.

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Squirrel woke slowly, her whole body aching and numb. Her eyelids were too heavy to lift, but she was awake. She could feel a mattress beneath her, a blanket draped across her; she could feel how her limbs were arranged, could feel the gentle rocking of the ship. The air was close and smelled of timber and powder and rope and the men she knew. 

Slowly, as to make certain this were no dream, she stirred herself, curling her fingers and toes, moving her arms and legs gingerly under the covers; small, testing movements. It was her body, and the sensations were close and real. This was no distant, drifting dream. She was alive. Her body was heavy and sore and tired, but she was alive.

Squirrel opened her eyes.

This was one of the beds in the infirmary. Someone had brought her down here; someone had laid her on one of the beds and covered her in a woollen blanket. Squirrel looked around, but there was no-one. She licked her lips, and tasted meat stew. A weight in her stomach told her that she'd been fed while she was lost to unconsciousness. Someone had been watching over her, even if they weren't here now.

As she continued to look around, she saw a sleeping figure in the bed opposite her. Recognition didn't come for a moment, but when it did, Squirrel forgot herself and tried to leap to her feet. Her body refused to obey, and Squirrel lay down again, hissing and dizzy. She wasn't allowed to be hasty now. Duly warned, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed first, and used their weight to slowly lever herself upright. Her head spun, and she needed to sit for a moment to regain her balance. Then she staggered unsteadily over, with her breath caught in her throat.

"Sam?"

He lay unmoving, and Squirrel felt so afraid. But then she saw his chest rise and fall, the slow rhythm of one in a deep, deep sleep, and she sighed in relief. Gingerly, she put her hand on his chest, and smiled to feel it beating so reassuringly strong under his skin.

She pulled the stool from beside her bed until it was beside his, and sat down beside him, watching him. "Thankyou," she murmured, unable to turn her eyes from the sleeping Irishman, "Thankyou, Lord, for watching over us both." She smiled. "Thankyou." She watched Sam sleep a moment longer, then glanced around the room.

Her eyes lit on a small leather-bound book lying on the table behind her, next to a half-empty bowl of stew. It was Ragetti's Bible. With a wry but grateful smile, she picked it up and started leafing through it. She found her favourite psalm, and started reading. She read it over and over and over again, and each time the words on the page expressed the prayer she didn't have the voice to speak.

Sam stirred in his sleep, and Squirrel lifted her eyes from the pages, frightened and hopeful at the same time. But he slept on. Smiling, Squirrel looked back down to the Bible in her lap, and started leafing through the pages, reading and smiling and feeling a peace she hadn't felt for a long, long time.

She turned the page once more, and froze. She read. She read again. She read once more, because she couldn't believe what she was seeing. And then her eyes welled with tears, and those tears fell and landed on the Bible, splashing down on the pages between his name… and hers.

_Thankyou_, she murmured silently, mouthing the words, _Oh, thankyou_.

Still crying silently, Squirrel closed her eyes and tilted her neck back as far as her aching muscles would allow. It had always been there, waiting for her to remember it. Waiting for her to find it. And it had been waiting, because she just hadn't been looking in the right places. And now, after all this time, after all this searching, she'd finally found her name - her _real name_ - in the one place she'd somehow known it always would have been.

"This can't be heaven."

Squirrel's eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice. "Sam? Oh! Sam!"

The Irishman's smile was somewhat forced, given how weary and battered he was, but it shone genuinely from his hazel eyes. "Yeh're cryin' _a stór._ This can't be heaven."

"No," she gently set the Bible aside, still open. "I'm crying 'cause I'm happy." She rose from the stool and sat on the edge of the bed beside him, as close as she could manage.

"Could still be heaven, then." He gave a wincing chuckle, then glanced blearily around. "Where…?"

She smiled. "We're alive."

His eyes widened slightly, incredulity and hope at the same time. "We made it? This is… your ship, the _Pearl_?"

Squirrel nodded, and breathed one word. "Yes."

"Praise be," Sam sighed, closing his eyes a moment, "God is too good t' the likes of I."

"To the likes of us, you mean," Squirrel murmured, with a smile.

"Aye," he grinned, his eyes still shut, "That too."

"How do you feel, Master Flynn?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Like crap."

She laughed. "Maybe you'll feel better if you eat something." She picked up the bowl of stew from the table behind her. He strained to sit up, but she put a hand on his chest and forced him to lie back down. "Let me."

She'd fed Sam with the stew, spoonful by spoonful, until he motioned he could eat no more. "As much as Mister Gibbs' cookin' seems t' have improved, I think I'm done. Me stomach's a mite smaller these days," he smiled weakly. "They didn't feed me s' well back on the _Diana_."

"What?" She stared at him. "They starved you as well as beat you?"

"Not starved as such," he looked to the wall. "Just didn't get to eat as well as the real crewmen, is all."

_But you're the one who wanted to free me. I at least had a meal before we left, but did you? You put my safety ahead of your own, and… You could have died, and it would have been my fault!_ Squirrel felt cold all over. "Sam, why didn't you say anything?"

He looked at her, pained. "I didn't want yeh t' worry 'bout me."

"You stupid…!" She dropped the bowl back on the table with a sharp bang. "Not _worry_ about you? Sam, you could have _died_! If you'd told me, I could have gotten something…" Her eyes stung again. "Do you know… how I felt watching you… You just fell, and I couldn't wake you… you… You stupid…" She buried her head in her hands. "Stupid…"

Sam reached for her, gently closing his fingers around her wrist. "I'm sorry, _a stór_. I… I didn't mean t'…" He sighed, and looked away. "I'm a fool, I am. I'm so sorry."

She glared up at him, eyes still full. "Are you _trying_ to kill me, Sam?" She looked away from his surprised expression, and wiped at her tears. "I've seen too many people die already. I don't want… I don't ever want to see anyone… anyone I… It'd… it'd be too much for…" She stared at the opposite wall until she felt she'd stopped crying.

"Ah, bollocks," Sam sighed, "I've broken me promise already." He smiled apologetically at her when she turned back to look at him. "I promised I'd never let yeh be hurt. And here I am, makin' yeh cry."

She managed a breath of short laughter as she wiped her face again. "Well… I'll let it slide this time. Your promise can still stand." She rested her hand against his chin. "Just don't let this happen again, alright?"

"Aye," he smiled, "I won't. An' that's a promise."

They smiled at each other a long moment. And then a moment hung between them, and Squirrel realised she still hadn't taken her hand back. Sam was watching her, with that same question, that same hope in his eyes from when the _Diana_ was making her way towards Singapore. And she stared back, not knowing what to say to do, or even what to think.

"You…" She cleared her throat, and rubbed her thumb against his stubbled jawline before pulling her hand back. "You need to shave, paddy."

He snorted a laugh - a smile flickering across his face - and closed his eyes. "Aye. I'll get right on that. First though, I think…" He yawned. "I think I'll rest… a while… more."

Squirrel stayed with him, watching him. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, watched him as he fell into a certain restful sleep, and then watched him dream. She smoothed down his careless hair with delicate fingers, then folded her hands demurely in her lap. She stared at Sam, then down at her hands, then to the open Bible on the table, then back to Sam again, then out into the middle distance. She bit her lip, sighed, then rose to her feet. On shaking legs she made her way out of the infirmary. Somewhere in the hold came the sound of Tia's music box. But Squirrel had no time for that.

It was daylight once again. She stepped out into the light, and was forced back into the hold, hand over her dazzled and blinded eyes. After a few moments, her vision cleared and she tried again, shielding her eyes from the bright light as she climbed the stairs.

It was noon. A whole day had passed since she'd escaped from the _Diana_. With her eyes still shielded, she glanced around the deck.

"Miss! You're up!"

She glanced over, and saw Marty headed for her. "Good day," she smiled weakly.

He frowned in concern. "Should you be up and about, Miss? Don't ye think ye should get your strength back first?"

_I have strength enough_. "I need to talk to Jack."

Marty nodded, understanding. "'E's at the 'elm, Miss."

Squirrel turned around, and saw him standing at the wheel. Judging from the way he was holding his head, he'd just turned away from watching her, and was trying to pretend he hadn't seen her. Or, that the sight of her didn't matter. With a faint smile, Squirrel moved to the stairs, and, leaning heavily on the railing, climbed up to him.

Jack's eyes flickered to her as she stood by him, but he didn't move or turn to face her. "You're up, I see." His words were clipped. "Probably not a good idea."

"I had to talk to you." She braced her leg against the pilot box, to steady her weak self.

"Can it wait?" He gripped the spokes of the wheel a little tighter. "I'm kind of in the middle of… captain… -ing, if you didn't notice."

Squirrel swallowed back a sigh. This was not his usual nonchalance. Something was wrong. "You don't seem all that happy to see me, captain," she murmured.

His eyes flickered sidelong again, but he kept facing straight ahead. "Am I supposed to be? Is that what you were expecting?" One hand flicked free, fingers curling and twitching a moment. "Here I was thinking I was supposed to be unpredictable."

Squirrel left the railing, and moved closer to the helm. Jack finally looked at her, even if it was a brief moment. Squirrel caught sight of the petulant look in his eyes, and the way his lips were pressed together. "Talk to me, Jack."

"No," he said, stubbornly, "Why should I?"

Squirrel's vision spun a moment, and she closed her eyes until she was able to reorient herself. "Is this about him?"

"It's about bloody _you_!" Jack snapped, glaring at her.

She stared. "Me? What? Why?"

"Why?" He scoffed, incredulous. "Well, why the bloody hell not? You just… I was… You…" One hand sliced up through the air. "Gone!"

She gaped in silence.

"What were you expecting me to think?" Jack barked, though his voice was low, and the words only for Squirrel's ears. "The last thing you said to me was goodbye!" He glared out over the horizon again, and set his shoulders back determinedly. "You said 'next port'. Seems you couldn't even wait that long to get away from me, ey?"

Squirrel stared at him. "You thought…" She shook her head, unable to tear her eyes from Jack. "No, Jack! That's not what happened! I wouldn't never…" But what else would he have thought? She laid out all her worldly possessions on the lower bunk with all the care of someone laying out a will and testament. She'd told Jack she was leaving. She'd even said goodbye. Squirrel stared down and away, and sighed. "I would never try to kill myself, or anything like that." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry I made you worry, Jack, but… but it wasn't my fault, or even my choice."

"Then what _did_ happen?" He swung around, one hand on the wheel, and frowned at her.

Squirrel stared, anguished, at her feet a moment, trying to decide just how much to say, then looked up. The words she had prepared died when she saw a new bauble hanging from Jack's hair, tangled in with the reindeer bone. There was no mistaking it. How many silver pieces imbedded with bullets existed within the world? Jack caught her staring at it, and drew himself up in silent challenge.

"Th…" she reached out, surprised and pleading, "That's mine."

He flicked idly at the silver coin with his free hand, setting it spinning on the soft leather band. "No, it's not." He smirked. "Well, it was. 'S mine now."

"Jack, please. Give it back."

Jack brushed her hand aside. "No." Then he paused, and considered a moment, a slight curve to his lips. "Why should I?"

"My father gave that to me. It's… it's all I have left of him. Please, Jack…"

He raised an eyebrow. "So, it's important to you, then?"

She nodded, mutely, unable to take her eyes from the iron bullet that warped the smoothness of the silver coin.

"Then why aren't you wearing it, if that's the case?"

Her eyes flicked to his, and, ashamed, she had to look away. "Because… I…" She reached up to her throat, and felt the heavy warm stones that lay there as the amulet's replacement. _I couldn't wear it, because it was 'tainted' with memories of you_, she thought, the words unspoken, unspeakable. _Because your life changed my past utterly and irretrievably, and there was no escaping that fact. Because I… I feared my past, and tried to bury you. And I couldn't as long as I wore the reminder that I would sacrifice my own life for yours._ She closed her eyes and gave a weak sob.

Squirrel heard Jack sigh, defeated by a woman's sadness. "Alright, listen." She looked up, and saw Jack shaking a finger at her, gently admonishing. "I'll give it back, but you got to promise to wear it from now on. Promise?"

She nodded, grateful and relieved. "Yes. Yes, I promise."

He tried not to look pleased at the smile on her face, and untangled the amulet from his braids. "Good." He held it up by the string. Squirrel reached for it, but he pulled it away, shaking his finger again. The wagging finger started to rotate, curving a horizontal circle in the air. Squirrel smiled wryly, then turned her back to him. She watched as the silver coin descended over her face, down to her throat, and felt Jack's breath through her hair as he tied the amulet secure. When he stepped away, she reached back and pulled her hair free, and touched the coin. It clinked gently over the bones of the necklace she was already wearing, covering the centremost of the five points.

"Well?"

She turned back to him, and smiled. "Thankyou."

He shrugged, flapped both hands dismissively, and turned back to the helm, all nonchalance and devil-may-care once more. Then he remembered, and looked back at her. "You were going to tell me what happened, luv?"

Squirrel nodded, slowly, then looked exaggeratedly around the _Pearl_'s deck. All the crew were out at their duties. Barbossa and Tia were standing at the prow, talking with low voices and animated hands; Pintel and Ragetti were swabbing the deck; Marty, Cotton and Gibbs were at the lines and in the rigging.

"Where's Mister Turner got to?" She asked, offhandedly.

Jack pursed his lips in thought. "I wouldn't know," he said, just as offhanded. "Haven't seen him since he vanished from his cell a day and a half ago."

"Well, _that's_ a shame."

Jack picked up on her tone, and looked at her, blinking and wide-eyed. "_Will_ did that to you? Will _Turner_?"

"Yes." She shrugged. "He threw me overboard, Jack. Revenge against you, I imagine." As soon as she said the words, though, she realised something. Will's farewell to her had been a plea for her to understand, coupled with an apology. And hadn't they spoken barely moments before about finding some way to free Will's father, as well as Elizabeth? _Even though I didn't intend to help him any more, I had told him that he'd always need my help_, Squirrel looked out at the sea, _I didn't think he'd take me literally_.

Jack was not party to any of this internal monologue, and was cursing colourfully at the wheel. "Turner! Bloody _Turner_ threw you bloody overboard? Bloody hell!" He grit his teeth and hissed through them. "I didn't have any-bloody-thing to do with bloody Miss Swann getting bloody taken away!" He looked at Squirrel. "You an' 'im share a brain!"

Squirrel pulled her mouth into a wry smile so that he wouldn't see her flinch guiltily. "Apparently." Suddenly, her vision spun again, this time more severely. Staggering, she flailed out with one arm to find something to break her fall.

"Whoa, hold on." Jack grabbed her by the upper arm, steadying her. She hung her head and closed her eyes until the dizziness passed. Now she knew who'd been watching over her as she was sleeping.

"Sorry," Squirrel gave him a wan smile as she regained her balance. "Seems it _is_ a bad idea that I'm up."

Jack sighed though his nose, then smiled. "Here," he said, guiding her hand onto one of the helm's spokes. As Squirrel moved into position, taking the wheel, he stood behind her, and rested his chin on her left shoulder.

Squirrel held the whole ship in her hands, and felt once again the strength of the timbers and the sails and of the _Pearl_'s spirit itself filling her. The feeling of solidity was only bolstered by the feeling of Jack so close, so comforting, behind her, holding her steady and trusting her with the command of his ship. Yet at the same time, she was conscious that her heart - which should have been fluttering and bounding and bringing blood to her face - was calm, beating steadily. She wondered about that for a moment.

"How you feel?"

"Better," she said distantly, staring out across the whole ship, feeling her blood singing freedom through her veins.

He nudged the jade bauble hanging from her earring with his nose. "I want to show you something," he murmured, his breath tickling at her neck, "Turn 'er a little to starboard."

Squirrel did so, carefully, and chills of joy danced across her skin as the ship obliged. _You've forgiven me, then, for stabbing you before?_ She pulled a smile wryly. _Well, I suppose you got your revenge by having me thrown away_. The _Pearl_ didn't seem to respond.

"Now look at the wind."

Squirrel frowned, and looked down at the pirate's head balanced on her shoulder. "Jack, you can't see the wind."

"Yes, you can." He gestured with curling fingers to the sails above their heads, the clouds in the sky. "Now," Jack purred, closing his hands over hers, "Keep watching." He slowly turned the wheel an inch to port. Squirrel stared, wide-eyed, as the sails which she thought were full already strained further and fuller. She felt the timber beneath her bare feet humming, a song Squirrel had often danced to rolling through them, echoing through the air. It was as though the ship were alive, and cherished every chance to move forward and onward and into the unknown.

Jack smiled at her. "You feel that?"

Squirrel nodded, awed.

Jack smoothed one of his hands over the wood. "She likes you, luv." His smile faded slightly. "Shame you won't be around for much longer." He shrugged slightly. "She'll miss you."

Squirrel bowed her head, sighed, and released the spokes. Jack stepped aside, thinking she was going, then raised an eyebrow when she didn't move.

"I found my name."

His head snapped to face her. "You did?"

She told him. It was a bare whisper, the hush of a wave falling into sea foam on a sandy shore, the whisper of a breeze through the sails, a gentle sigh. It wasn't much. But it was her name. Jack flicked it through his lips and teeth a few times, tasting the word, playing with it, teasing it…

"I prefer 'Squirrel', though," she told him, resting her head back against the wheel. "It's what I've gotten used to, I suppose."

Jack nodded, lips curved slightly. "Squirrel it is, then, luv." He murmured her names a few times more, like a rosary, as he stared out across the water, one hand on the wheel.

"Jack?"

"Hrm?"

"Jack…" Squirrel closed her eyes, sighed, then looked at him again. "When we got you out of the Locker, you said… You said it would take a hundred day for me to get used to the fact you were… you were back."

Jack's smile vanished as he stared stoically out over the water, but his fingers clenched and unclenched around the spoke he held, his left hand stirring restlessly through the air at his waist.

"But, you know… You know, one day was all it took," she said, lifting her head. "One day to realise that there's nowhere else I'd rather be, and that… and that to be anywhere else than where you are is just… torture."

Jack's head tilted slightly, a miniscule motion, and his hands went still.

Squirrel smiled to herself, and rubbed her thumb over the smooth wood. "I don't think I could bear it a second time, captain. I'm…" She sighed, a short laugh. "I think… I…" She bowed her head, then looked up at him. "Can I stay?"

It was like watching the sun rise. There was the slow rising light, the first shine of gold, and the feeling of warmth that filled her from her head to her toes. All shone not from the noonday sun, but from Jack's wide and incomparable smile. Embarrassed, Squirrel ducked her head.

"'Course," she murmured in mimicry of Jack's nonchalance, "I wouldn't want to put a burden on you, captain. After all, I'm all sorts of trouble, and I don't intend to impose m'self where I'm not wanted…"

"Luv."

She looked up at him, still blushing.

His grin was still in place, even as he swung one-handed from the wheel. "Luv," he told her, "'Course you can stay."

She smiled back at him, her lips parting in a grin. "Aye, aye, captain."

He rolled his eyes, then focused once more on the wheel. "Now, get ye below and get some rest. We'll talk more when you're in more of a fit state to do so."

Squirrel nodded, and started to turn away. "Oh, Jack?"

"Mmm?"

"When… when I'm in a 'fit state', could we fight?"

He pulled a face at her. "Luv, the first thing you think of as soon as you set foot aboard my ship is fighting with me?" He shook his head and scoffed wearily. "Women."

"I meant _sword_ fighting."

He raised an eyebrow. "You can use a sword?"

She nodded. "And, seeing as how we're going to fight Beckett in the end, I… I need practice." She raised an eyebrow at him. "And _you_ need all the help you can get."

Jack pulled another face, different to the first. "I resent that. Highly resent that, Miss Grey." He drew himself up. "I happen to be a fair expert when it comes to handling a sword."

Squirrel couldn't decide whether that was metaphor or not, but she grinned anyway. "Then, you accept?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not?" He winked. "But I'll go easy on you."

She raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together in a knowing smile. "Of course you will."

Jack grinned, then gestured to the stairs with one limp hand. "G'wan. Get some rest. We'll fight later."

"Aye, captain, aye."

"And, luv?"

"Yes?"

"I'm… I'm glad you're back."

"Me too, Jack." Squirrel turned, and made halting, staggering progress down to the deck, then down into the hold.

Her feet took her on a familiar path for a moment, headed for her quarters, but halfway there she stopped and turned back. She went to the infirmary, where the Irishman lay sleeping. She watched him a moment, swaying on her feet, then lay down on the bed opposite him, watching him sleep even as she drifted off into dreams of her own.


	21. Swordfighting

**Disclaimer**: Its fifteen men on a dead man's chest, not thirteen or sixteen or whatever other '-teen' number exists. 15!

**A/N**: Yay another long one! Took a couple of kicks for certain parts of the dialogue to hold, which is why I took so long to write it.

* * *

Squirrel stared down the length of her sword, concentrating on the way the steel was balanced in her hand. She barely paid any heed to the way she stood, balanced on her left leg, her other leg stretched straight behind her in the opposite direction to her outstretched arm. She stood like a 'T', her sword arm and her left leg forming the crossbar of the letter. Slowly, she rolled her spine until she stood back upright, then braced her feet on the deck, pulling her sword back until the hilt brushed her cheek, while pushing her left arm forward, palm out, and crouched backwards, all the weight on her right leg. After holding this pose a moment longer, she lunged forward, shifting all her weight forward to her left foot, sword piercing the air in front of her, then let the momentum spin her around to the left, sword carving the air as she spun, and then lifting and falling as she returned to her original position. Squirrel swung her left arm back, like a dancer's, as she finished the swing, then held the pose a moment before dropping both arms and taking a deep breath. It had taken barely a moment for her to complete that whole exercise, and she'd been moving slowly. 

What she was doing unnerved her - she knew that she could easily kill someone with moves like she'd just done, if she moved fast enough. After a moment to pause, Squirrel drew her dagger in her left hand, closed her eyes, and with both weapons held tightly, went through the motions of _tai qi_, carefully and gracefully, adapting every instance of the exercise to suit the blades she held in her hands. She moved carefully, gracefully, her steps and motions as fluid and slow as the motion of her blades as they curved through the air. As she moved, the creases on her forehead smoothed out, and she found she was able to breathe easier as every minute passed. Just as she had on that hill in Singapore one morning - how long ago it seemed now - she found herself calming, feeling a little more level-headed. The slow motions, paired with the late evening air, settled her. But there was no changing the fact she was holding a blade in each hand, nor that there were ships behind them, just out of sight over the horizon.

There was a storm coming. She could feel it in the air above her.

"Intristin'," a familiar voice woke her from her thoughts. "Very intristin', luv. Not seen anythin' like that before."

Squirrel lowered her blades and turned to face the laconic smile of Jack, the red knot and tassel tied to her dagger catching around her wrist for a moment. "Just something I picked up on my travels," she said, looking down at her dagger, fiddling with the string hanging off it just for something to do. "I don't know if it'll be any use." She tucked the small blade back in its sheath, smoothed her fingers over it, ran the red threads through her grip.

Jack had his sword drawn. He lifted it now, his free hand curling in the air behind him. "Then let's find out, shall we?"

Squirrel smiled, smirked, and leapt at him, a blur of blue and brown. Jack gave a woof of surprise and ducked aside, blade swinging limply and a moment too late in her direction. Squirrel was the faster, and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she ducked and bobbed and swivelled, leaping and jumping even as she swung and thrust and flicked her blade. As the two of them moved, Squirrel could hear a song in her head. It was a familiar tune, but not any she could put a name to. It was a song she'd often heard through the timbers of the _Pearl_, while at her chores or in the crow's nest with the wind in her hair. It was strong and wild, and Squirrel's blood surged and her blows got surer and stronger with the tune.

Jack turned and fled, hiding behind the mast. After a moment, he peered around, eyes wide. "I thought you said this was practice," he blinked at her.

Squirrel smothered a smile as she took an _en guarde _position. "It is."

"But you… you're…"

She smirked. "I'm what, Jack?"

He growled and came out from behind the mast. "No, no. Nothing." He lifted his sword, mirroring her stance. "I was just… just letting you warm up, that's all."

"Very kind of you, captain," she closed her eyes, "But if you're not going to do this properly, I'll find someone else to spar with." She opened her eyes just in time to see Jack charging at her, and this time she was on the defensive. She'd expected him to swing at her like he was holding a club. After all, that was what she was used to seeing him do. But he had a deceptively decent amount of skill with the blade. _Typical_, she thought briefly as she danced back and forth with him, _He's always more than he appears_. _He still needs practice, though_.

The song started up again. The two blades clashed and ground against each other. Squirrel back-flipped, rolled to the side, and leapt back to her feet. She tilted her head, considering Jack a moment; Jack did the same. They circled, warily, around the deck, watching and waiting. Then they both stilled… and leapt again. Jack slashed the air three times, and Squirrel parried each blow. Then Squirrel turned her blade, and pushed up, down from the left and up from the right - short, sharp blows - while Jack swayed on his feet and parried her blows. They pulled back and circled again, then Jack moved forward, forward, forward, his blade held before him and one arm behind. Squirrel watched and waited, letting him push her back, blocking and slapping his blade aside as she skittered back on her toes. Suddenly, she ducked, bobbed enough to make him readjust his aim, then leapt forward towards him when his arm went wide. Jack wasn't able to bring his sword up fast enough. She smiled, prodded his forehead with the tip of her sword, then stepped back.

"Well," Jack nodded, flinching back from her, "You know what you're doing. I'll give you that." He looked nonchalantly across the deck a moment, rubbing the fingernails of his left hand on his coat, while his sword hung limp in his right. "Excellent form. And, as for your footwork…"

Squirrel leapt again, and whatever Jack was going to say was lost as he yelped and brought his sword up to parry the blow. Squirrel smiled sweetly over the crossed blades.

Jack looked impressed. "Nice, luv. For a moment there, I was thinking you'd leaned how to fight from Turner."

Squirrel lowered her blade and stepped aside. "Only partially."

"Ah." He nodded. "Thought so. You've got the same kind of rhythm, only… not."

"Well, I did learn from elsewhere." Squirrel took one of her _tai qi_ poses - weight on her bended right leg, sword readied up by her face, palm facing Jack - and smiled, "And, Hector did help a little, too."

Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. "Good for him," he muttered.

"What? It's not like _you_ ever thought to give me lessons."

"I'll learn you good right now," he growled, and leapt at her. There was steeliness to his eyes, but still gold in his grin. Squirrel endured Jack's blows, parrying and deflecting them one by one, letting him push her back. There were crates not two steps away. _Let's see what he thinks of this_.

Jack swung twice, a lazy but forceful pair of blows; Squirrel jumped up and back onto the crates, then jumped again, flipping forward over Jack's head, landed, and turned with a 'hah!' and slapped his back with the flat of her blade. Jack winced as he turned around.

"Well, I can see what you learned from Hector."

"No," she grinned, straightening up, "That was all me." She felt the wind change, and glanced up. She couldn't tell in the darkness of night, but there was definitely cloud cover. She couldn't see the stars or the moon any more. The storm was getting closer.

Jack huffed. "You do know I'm just going easy on you because I like you."

Squirrel laughed. "Face it, Jack. You're a pathetic swordsman."

His eyebrows wriggled and his eyes were smoky. "Is that more metaphor, darlin', or…?" She swung her sword, and Jack barely managed to mince out of its arc.

"I'm a girl," Squirrel told him, "And I fight better than you."

Jack stepped and stepped and stepped, sword swinging in the air before him. Squirrel parried, as she had done twice before, but found that Jack wasn't where he was supposed to be. She turned her head, eyes widening, as Jack spun on his feet, ducked below her blade and around her arm. She closed her eyes and chuckled as she felt him prod her forehead with the tip of his sword.

"You don't fight better," he purred, "You just fight faster. And, in case you didn't notice, I'm pretty flexible." His grin turned from triumphant to teasing. "Course, you wouldn't know just how flexible…"

She brushed his sword away from her face and turned her back on him. "So," she laughed, "That's how you fight? By stealing moves from your opponents?"

"Works for me," Jack grinned at her, tapping his sword against his palm. "Pirate, remember? So, as for whether or not you're better than me, I'd say… no. Because no matter how good you are," he spread both arms, holding his body forward, "I'm a mirror."

"Well, that's…" She laughed again, shaking her head. "Well, if that's what works for you." She sighed, then looked back to face him. "So now you know my technique."

"Oh, yes," he grinned back, readying his sword for another round. "Thanks for teaching me. That trick could come in handy."

"You're welcome," she said dryly, as she and he both charged again, "Sometimes it's amazing what you can learn from a virgin."

Jack gaped and staggered. Squirrel stepped aside to let him reel his way to regaining his balance, and carefully arranged her face into a placid mask. Halfway across the deck, Jack turned back and looked suspiciously at her, sword readied in case she tried something. Squirrel lifted hers in challenge, but didn't move from where she stood.

"Is that…" He smiled, half in uncertainty and half in amusement, "Is that more metaphor, darlin'?

"Who's using metaphor?" she smiled pleasantly. After a moment, she dissolved into giggles, her face red, at the look on his face. "Well?" she lifted her sword again, grinning and blushing still, "When you're ready."

"Wait," Jack held up a hand, trying to grasp the concept from the air, "Wait a minute. Are you really…?"

"I don't have all evening, Jack," she told him calmly. "But to answer your question, yes. Yes, I am."

"Huh." He smirked.

Squirrel leapt again, and he didn't even flinch as he re-entered the fight still grinning, with Squirrel struggling to regain her mask. She danced and stepped and twirled, her feet light and dancing to the tune of the _Pearl_ while her blade flashed and twisted and carved gracefully through the air. Jack, however, seemed to be dancing to a different beat. While he was moving just as certain as she was, Jack stepped to a three-four time, a strange swaying beat that seemed almost a waltz, but at the same time was derivative of his drunken swagger. Squirrel watched Jack carefully, even as they danced together, and thought she heard a different song in the air. It was the old drunken shuffle of a tune she knew to be Jack's own. She'd even written words to them, long ago, back when he alone had the power to make her blush and stammer into incoherence. Two different songs were being danced to here. And yet they were so alike, so similar, so part of each other, it would have been hard to distinguish the two. One song of the ship, and one of its captain; one song of the wind, and one of the sea.

"You move pretty well. Like you're dancing, almost."

"I have a song worth dancing to." She tapped her foot, indicating the planking beneath them. "Her song."

He grinned and swayed out of the swish of steel. "Don't you have a song of your own?"

"I… I don't know." Squirrel paused a moment, thinking. "I don't think I do." She smiled and gestured with her blade. "You do, though."

"Do I?" He lowered his blade and tilted his head, curious.

Squirrel hummed a little of the tune, and found herself almost swaying along with it. Then, impulsively, she added a new phrase to the song she'd written a long time ago. "_No matter the troubles he finds himself in, you can always be sure that he'll land on his feet_…"

Jack laughed softly. "Yeah, that sounds like me." He tilted his head the other way, looking coy now. "What would yours be, I wonder?"

Squirrel thought about it, a smile to her lips. _What would my song be?_ _A Tortugan hornpipe_, she thought, _Only with none of its forced cheerfulness or thoughtless gaiety_. Her song would be fast, like she was, but graceful. A pirate's jig, a joyful flight, a song of love and adventure with just a hint of the distant, fading shadows. Light and brave and unbound and free. She could all but hear it, and wondered why she'd never even thought to imagine it before.

She saw Jack watching her, smiling; she smiled back. "Well, whatever my song," she murmured, lifting her sword again, "I hope it comes in handy for the dance." Squirrel's eyes flicked to the left; she spun and stabbed out at empty space. "Behind you, Jack!" She called, as she drew back her arms and swung savagely at another invisible opponent. Jack did the same, chuckling to himself. They exchanged grins in the darkness, and stood back to back a moment, considering the horde of Beckett's men and Jones' crew that surrounded them incorporeally. Then they leapt to the attack, fighting the air rather than crossing blades with each other.

"He's got his gun on you!"

"There's two to your left!"

"I'll distract him, you knock him out!"

"I need help over here!"

"Look out!"

"Hah-hah! Take that!"

Squirrel was panting and her blood was singing to the roaring sound of the songs; she could feel the _Pearl_'s loudest of all, but moved to the deep strains of Jack's song as well. And, faintly, she heard the strains of a violin, punctuated by a light fluting melody, the reel that was hers.

One by one, the invisible attackers fell. But as the battle grew furious and the songs came faster, it became harder and harder to slay the invisible spectres. Jack and Squirrel were surrounded, and it was getting more difficult to swing the blades. They lashed out with their fists and their daggers, but were slowly hemmed in by bayonets and beastly clawed weapons. _We're trapped_. Squirrel's eyes flickered as she stood back to back with her captain, blade at the ready. _We need to push them back_. She leapt forward, slashing, and then knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Arm!"

Jack barely had time to turn and offer a 'what?' before Squirrel leapt at him. Her left arm linked through his, and the momentum of her leap spun the pair of them around. Jack gave a yell, then crowed, understanding what she was doing, and dug his heels into the deck. He put his weight down, and turned, helping swing Squirrel through the air. Squirrel's heel cracked against a jaw, sending one of their assailants flying; Jack's sword slashed out at anyone who thought to duck under the flying girl and cut them down. Squirrel's own sword sliced through the throat of a man who dodged her kicking feet. For a moment, the circle was pushed back.

"Nice!" Jack cheered, as Squirrel skipped down out of the air. "Very nice, luv!" Squirrel readied her sword, face hard, but couldn't help but feel proud of herself. She grinned at him; he grinned back. "Us two make a great team."

"… Yes. It seems we do."

The wind blew suddenly. The sails rippled, whispering, and the lantern hanging nearby guttered out, casting longer shadows across the darkness. But it was Jack's words, and not the wind, that silenced the songs in her head. Squirrel stepped back and lowered her sword. Jack held his at the ready a moment longer, his eyes bright in the darkness, but as the moments stretched on, he, too, lowered his sword. He looked at her, expectant and confused. "Something the matter, darlin'?"

Squirrel looked down at her feet a moment. "A few things, captain." She fell mute, not knowing how to speak about something so painful.

He looked at her, face unreadable. "You still worried about Elizabeth?"

Squirrel opened her mouth, and closed it again. Her eyes turned to the sea and the cloudy night sky. How was she supposed to tell him? This wasn't as hard as the night she'd said goodbye, but the words just weren't coming at all this time.

Jack misread her silence for an answer. He sighed. "Luv, what happened to Miss Swann is… unfair. But life never runs smooth. There are just some things…" He took off his hat and scratched his head with the same hand before replacing it. "I agreed with Barbossa at the time, just 'coz it were what she deserved. But I think… I don't think young Bess is going to give up without a fight. She may have left on her own decision, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't going to let Sao Feng have his merry way with her. She's a lot tougher - and a lot smarter - than she lets other people think."

"Sounds like you two have a great deal in common." Squirrel kept her eyes down. "You two would have been a good match."

Jack scoffed violently. "Do I need to remind you that she's the one who killed me in the first place?" Then he sighed again. "No. We're too alike, her and me, she and I. It wouldn't have worked 'tween us. Too much the same."

"You say that, Jack," Squirrel glanced up at him with deep eyes. "But how am I supposed to believe you?"

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you do," he said, smiling a little. "You just like fightin' with me for fightin's sake." She gave a strained smile back to him. He wasn't fooled. "Listen, luv, just because Miss Swann an' me have a few characteristics similar, doesn't make us destined to be. If anything…" His smile widened coyly, "Similarities can be boring. Where's the fun in consortin' with a mirror? I like a little difference." He lowered his head, and looked smokily, meaningfully, through his kohl at her.

Squirrel laughed faintly, sadly, and touched the coin at her throat. "Sometimes there's too much of a difference, Jack." She looked up through the rigging, and felt a drop of rain land on her forehead.

"Not necessarily, darlin'."

She raised an eyebrow, and changed the focus of the conversation quickly, before she felt her heart thundering in her ears again. "So you think canny Elizabeth and naïve Will Turner are the better match?"

Jack shook a lazy finger at her. "Will Turner isn't always stupid, and Miss Swann isn't always the clever clogs she can be. Don't generalise." He grinned. "But yes, that's the way it is."

"'The way it is'." She gave a short snatch of bitter laughter, then half-turned from him. "Such a shame, then, that she and Will can't ever have their happy ending now."

Jack was silent.

Squirrel took a breath, looking out over the inky water. "No doubt you noticed that Sam and I came back in a boat."

Jack nodded, slowly, setting his beads clinking softly. "I did notice."

She turned to look at him. "So what do you think of that?"

"I don't follow you, luv." But his eyes flitted away, and his body swayed awkwardly. The sword point swung over the deck in nervous circles.

"It means I was picked up by a ship." She watched him nod, saw through his forced nonchalance. "Do I even need to make you guess as to the name of the ship I would risk death escaping from?" The air overhead shifted again, and got a little colder. A few drops of rain splattered down on the deck, heralds for what was to come.

There was no merriment in Jack's smile. "So Turner's trail did lead to Beckett after all. And if you're back it means… he's a day behind. Aye?"

"_Ke neng_."1 She swung the point of her sword listlessly over her toes. "If we're lucky."

"Lucky." Jack looked out over the water, and scoffed softly. "Given what you think about luck…"

"Beckett had some interesting things to say about you."

He looked at her, and shifted from foot to foot. Squirrel gave him a moment, looking away across at the building clouds. When she looked back, Jack was just as guarded as she had expected him to be.

"All lies, luv. Don't believe a word of them. Unless, of course, he was talking about how dashingly wonderful I am, in which case…"

"Every time I think I have you figured, Jack Sparrow," Squirrel said softly, "You always disappoint."

There was a sour twist to his lips. "Look, what happened 'tween me and Beckett was a long time ago. I've made mistakes, and so's he. But that's no reason for you to think any less of me. 'S all in the past."

Squirrel fixed him with her eyes. "What, precisely, would Beckett have said about you that would make me think less of you?"

Jack licked his lips, his teeth flashing like an animal's for a moment. "Wasn't born a pirate, luv," he murmured. "Few men are." He sighed shortly. "Done a great deal many things I'm ashamed of before I raised a black flag of me own."

"I didn't hear a word of your history, Jack Sparrow." She struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. "It's the present and the future that I'm talking about." She let the silence hang between them, as a few more drops of rain fell from above. She needed time to draw breath, time to put the hurt she felt into words which could best convey it. "You made a deal with him, Jack. You made a deal with Cutler Beckett to betray the Brethren Court."

"Oh." His fingers curled as he hooked his thumbs into his belt, "That." He sighed, then nodded. "Well, yes, that would be disappointing."

"Dammit, Jack…" She gripped her hands into fists, and her eyes started to sting. "How could you?"

He shrugged. "Someone has to set a bad example."

"That's not funny."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" His face was set and expressionless.

She couldn't step closer, didn't want to even be near him, but wanted to. "Then why did you do it?" She whispered, pleading.

Jack's eyes roved, and he swayed where he stood. A man with a dangerous secret. "You tell me," his words were almost a challenge. "You've a gift for figuring out puzzles of all kinds. And I know you say you can't read me, but there are times when I'm not that hard to figure out." His eyes were serious, unblinking. "So tell me: why do _you_ think I'd do it?"

Squirrel frowned, surprised by the way he'd thrown it back to her. She looked around for a moment, as though to find the answer in the surrounding area. And, in a way, she did. She looked to where she'd stood the night one of Jones' crewmen had slipped an arm around her waist and a hand around her throat. She looked to where Jack and Jones had faced off and made their bargain. To the port side, where the _Dutchman_ had sailed off into the night. She closed her eyes, purging the images from her mind. Then, she looked back to the man standing opposite her.

"You're doing it again," she murmured, closing her eyes and gripping the hilt of her sword tight. "Another one of those bargains… Others' lives in exchange for you and your safety." She stared at her feet, fighting bitter disappointment and anger both, and her words hurried out of her mouth like charging soldiers. "You'd gladly give us - your crew, as well as all the pirates of the world - over to Beckett and to certain death, just so you could get out of harm's way. Once more, you'd let everyone else pay your wages while you get off scot-free. This is just like last time, just like…" She halted, the realisation suddenly striking her like a hammer. "… before."

Jack tilted his head, eyebrow quirking and his lips pressing back a slight curve, and waited.

Squirrel stared at him, trying not to gape. _Just like before_. Jack Sparrow hadn't gone to Tortuga to collect ninety-nine souls for Jones, but did so for time to think and lay a new course, to try and find an escape. Jack had no intention of handing over those men; he just needed them for appearance's sake. He was going to find some way around his deal, his bargain. That was what he'd done.

And what he was doing now.

"If you have no intention of keeping your deal with Beckett," she frowned at him, incredulous, relieved and almost delighted, "Why did you make one in the first place?"

He was grinning now, now that he knew she was back on his side. "Well, why not? I'm an opportunistic cad with a selfish streak wide enough to drive a cart through." He winked.

"But to agree to betray the Court?"

"Only thing that would get Beckett in range of our guns, luv." He tilted his head again. "Wouldn't you say?"

She thought back to Beckett's cold eyes, and his unspoken threat about her fate, and shuddered. "Yes. It would." Jack grinned at her, but she wouldn't be reassured just yet. "But why? What are you trying to accomplish?"

He swayed idly back and forth where he stood. "What, getting back at Beckett's not good enough for you? Here I was thinking I was doing something you'd be proud of."

"You're not that altruistic." She swung her sword in careful, measured arcs. "It's your revenge, rather than justice."

"Justice or revenge, what does it matter? Waters'll be free of him, and we can all sleep easy." He tilted his head, concerned. "Unless you'd rather spare his life?"

Squirrel thought back to those spirits in the water, to those souls in boats. As much as she endorsed mercy, she couldn't imagine Beckett would be grateful for such a thing. There'd be more folk in the water between worlds if that man was allowed to go free. "He's killed men, women and children."

"So have us pirates." Squirrel looked up at Jack, and saw him watching her. Utterly serious, and twice as handsome for it. "We're on the wrong side of the law to be claimin' the moral high ground, luv." He shrugged, unashamed but awkward at the same time.

She nodded. "But that doesn't mean that what he's doing isn't wrong."

"'Course not."

She closed her eyes and followed the thread of conversation back to where it had been frayed. "But you still haven't told me _why_, Jack. Why this façade? Why do all this? What are you trying to achieve?"

Jack turned his head away and looked down at his feet. "You tell me," he murmured. And, for the second time in the evening, Squirrel put together the pieces of the puzzle that was Captain Jack Sparrow.

What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was freedom. That one thing he wanted but could never hold onto, because he was always being chased or caged or obligated… Freedom. His precious freedom. And he'd died once already, and been locked in a cage from which there would have been no escape. _The worst fate a man can bring upon himself, stretching on forever_. For Jack Sparrow, that meant captivity. The words from their farewell echoed in Squirrel's mind. _To lose it all would be like dying_. She'd intended to leave Jack to find her freedom, and had never once stopped to think that he was seeking the very same thing.

Jack kicked at the deck, then looked up at the clouds in the darkened sky. "Like I said," he whispered, "There are times I'm not so hard to figure out." He smiled thinly at her, eyes apologetic. "You just need to stop thinking I'm something that I'm not for a minute."

Her words were a whisper, a strange and almost frightening realisation as she was able to read him for one small moment. "You're afraid to die?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" He spread his hands, the sword dangling lazily in the air as he offered the gesture to her. But his eyes were dark and serious, and glistened in the shadows, despite the carelessness of his motions. "Death was unpleasant. The afterlife even more so." His voice went hard. "I'm not going through that again."

"Everyone dies, Jack."

He held up a finger. "Not necessarily." He turned his hand around and examined his nails. There was that same look on his face that had been there the night Elizabeth's father had died. "What if, for instance, there was a means for me to live forever?"

Squirrel felt cold, all over and all of a sudden, as though she'd been plunged into an icy sea. _The heart. He means to stab the heart_. "No," she said, an expulsion of sound more than a word or a plea or a cry.

Jack either didn't hear her, or he ignored her. "To sail the seas forever…" His eyes went distant. "To be unbound to anyone or anything, to be free to follow the wind and the tide and the stars to every corner of the globe… And to know that time will never catch up with me?" He smiled, faintly, dreamily, sadly. "That's worth livin' for. That's worth givin' it all up for."

Squirrel's tongue felt like a piece of lead, and her body like cold marble. She could feel her own breath passing in and out between her open lips, and that was the only proof she had for herself that she was still alive. "But… Jack…"

He smiled amiably out to the distance. "Yeah, I know. It's not a perfect plan. Still some kinks to iron out. Like the ferryin' of souls bit. But 'tween you and me, I figure something will get figured out." He shrugged. "So there you have it. The answer to 'why'. I'm making a deal with Beckett so's I can get my revenge on him, as well as to make it so I can live forever. All a neat little package, tied off with string." He smiled, pleased with himself, then looked to her, expecting to see the same thing.

But she was unmoving, gaping like a dead fish, her eyes wide and unseeing. Her blood roared cold through her ears to the sound of the Kraken's mocking heartbeat - no, not the Kraken's heart, but Jones' - and she shivered. She shivered and shook all over. She had to force the words out. "You're going to stab the heart?"

He frowned a moment, then nodded. "Two birds with one stone, as I said. And, you got to admit, livin' forever ain't such a bad thing, given the right circumstances." He raised an eyebrow at squirrel's frightened face. "For some people, at least." Then he sighed heavily, and looked around the _Pearl_. "There will be a fair few downsides, o' course. Losing this lovely lady, for one." He put his hand against the mast and stroked the wood fondly. "But there's always…"

"Always a cost for what we want most," Squirrel finished, remembering Tia's words, remembering Barbossa's words, remembering her own.

Jack turned back to look at her, smiling softly. "True enough."

She had to close her eyes. She licked her lips and tried to breathe. With every breath, breathing became a little easier, and she felt a little less cold. She tried to tell herself it was better this way; she felt like a coward for even thinking like that. She told herself she should stop him; she knew that he'd never forgive her if she did. She had a promise to keep; she knew she couldn't keep it, and didn't intend to try.

_Why do you always make me feel like this, Jack?_ She sighed. _I can never win_. _I want this to be a good thing, I want to be happy for you, but I… I still can't… can't bring myself to feel that_.

Jack's boots moved across the deck. Squirrel felt opened her eyes, and found her face inches from his.

"If I'm going to be the _Dutchman_'s new captain," he said softly, "I'm going to need someone to take care of the _Pearl_ for me. Someone I can trust won't let her… be anything than what she is." Jack studied Squirrel, searching both her eyes. "Think you're up to that, Song-shoe Chwan-sung?"

The storm broke overhead, and cool rain cascaded down on them both. Squirrel continued to stare at Jack, her heart beating within her, weighing as heavy and solid as she secret she kept. Water dripped through her hair, down her face, turning the blue of her shirt a darker hue and making it cling to her.

Squirrel stared at him, eyes stinging. "Jack…"

Jack didn't even seem to be getting wet. The soft rain barely seemed to touch him. "As of late, you seem to have become as delicate as old leather." He smiled, a brief flash of gold like the flicker of a star. "But I know you, luv. You've still got the same eyes you had the day you cam aboard. You'll take care of her."

"But I'm a girl," she gave a trembling smile, a short bark of laughter. "I can't be captain. Remember?"

"Sure you can, luv." He punched her lightly in the shoulder. "I know you can." He waited a moment for her answer.

She recalled that day after Jack had died, when she had asked Barbossa what the cost for bringing back Jack would be, she'd already known the answer. The cost for bringing Jack Sparrow back from the dead was Squirrel herself. She just hadn't been brave enough to realise the full extent of what that would mean. She'd been glad, at first, when she still hated him, that she would be the cost, that she would never have to see him again, never have to love him again. But now, now that she knew how she really felt for him, and knowing his intent, it hurt to know the cost. Hurt badly. Hurt more than a goodbye.

"I'm not crying," she told him. "It's just the rain."

He smiled fondly at her, then looked up. He squinted through the falling drops, then looked back down to Squirrel. Then, utter nonchalance, he swept his hat off his head and placed it on Squirrel's. It was a perfect fit. Jack smiled at the look on her face.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

She looked down, and nodded to her feet. "Of course," she said, voice hoarse. "I'll take good care of her for you."

_This time, I asked if I could stay, and you said yes. But I can't stay, can I? Not with you. Not if you intend to sail beyond this world and live forever. I can't follow you there. I can't_. She closed her eyes and sighed_. And you know that. This is the best you can do for me_.

She took a few shuddering breaths, and counted her heartbeats until they were slow and steady inside her again. Then she shook her head at him. "You're an idiot."

"Well, that's nice," he huffed, as rain touched his hair and face at last. "I give you a ship and you call me names."

"You've woven this elaborate scheme all around you," she gestured with the sword she still held, "Made a plan for every eventuality, just like you always do…" She puffed a sigh. "Yet somehow I can't help but think that when this story is told, won't be about what a tricky bastard you are."

Jack held up his free hand and pouted. "Hey, I'm not here to save the world. I'm just here to save meself."

"And you'll become a hero in the process."

He grinned at her.

She grinned back, then sighed heavily as the rain continued to fall over them both. "Sometimes, Jack, I just wish I could figure you out."

He pulled a face, gold teeth glinting as the rain cascaded through his braids. "Where'd be the fun in that?"

"At least it would spare me the headaches," she muttered. But even she couldn't help smiling.

* * *

1 Maybe/possibly 

**A/N**: There's not going to be a lot of time to be mushy when the epic starts. So, pardon me :D


	22. That's The One

**Disclaimer**: I had breakfast with Beckett and he assured me that Pirates 1 2 and 3 would never be mine.

**A/N**: Changed the details of an earlier chapter in order to make this chapter make a bit more sense, geography-wise. A little bit more fluff in the first half, before we start getting back into the piratical plotting and scheming that is neccessary before any fight.

* * *

"… All I'm sayin' is that some people just aren't the marryin' type."

"Meaning, _you're_ not."

"Well, yes, luv, that goes without saying." His eyes sparkled merrily.

Squirrel snorted as she climbed down the stairs, sheathing her sword. "Are you just saying that because you've never known what it means to really love someone? Or because you're afraid to find out what it feels like?"

He curled his fingers through her hair, caressing her neck gently as he swung down behind her. "I know exactly what it feels like, darlin'," he purred. "And, seeing as you don't, if you were honest about what you said before, I wouldn't mind bein' the one to show you…" He huffed against her hair, "Just… how _good_… it is…"

She jumped out of his reach, half-laughing and half-scolding. "Stop that! And you know that's not what I meant."

Jack rolled his eyes and leaned against the support beam, folding his arms and smirking. "Oh really? So what are you talking about, then?"

Squirrel sighed and shook her head. "Not harlotry, that's for certain." She smirked at his wounded expression. "Well, why should I? I've seen how miserable a whore's life is, and I want no part of it. True love seems far more appealing."

Jack snorted, and this time _he_ was shaking his head at _her_. "Being around Turner's addled your wits, Miss Grey. Isn't such a thing. There's just two people thinking they found something, and then they make it into something it's not and trying to build their happiness on it." He looked at her, eyes dark and serious. "Marriage isn't nothing but a race 'tween two people to see who falls out of 'love' the fastest."

Squirrel remembered the swords, the toy soldiers, the map of the world. The tea and strawberry jam. "I suppose it would depend on who you married," she murmured. "Some of the strongest chains can be forged from a single gold link." She looked away, and rubbed her arms to hide the gooseflesh.

Jack snorted with a laugh. "Now, that was poetry. And here I was thinking you were the kind to actually look forward to the old ball-and-chain. Fooled me." He swooped out a hand and snatched his hat from off of Squirrel's head, and placed it firmly back on his own.

"Well, maybe I am," Squirrel told him hotly, fixing her hair a little, "But like I said, it depends on who you marry." She fought with a smile and heaved a dramatic sigh. "No hope for me, is there?"

"Heh," Jack grinned, "I'm just bein' difficult, luv. I haven't been married, and I certainly don't intend to be. I avoid a lot of trouble that way." His voice, as always, rose and fell like the tone of bells. "Maybe it's not as bad as I've heard. But as I said, it's not for me. Too much fun to be had elsewhere."

Squirrel put a hand to her heart and mock-swooned. "Elsewhere? Oh, captain, my poor aching heart…"

He snorted with laughter. "Shut up." A light of an idea sprung into his eyes. "You could always not-marry."

She laughed. "Oh, yes, I can imagine it, Jack. We'd fight a lot, and the fights would always end with me storming off, scowling and saying 'You're impossible, Jack Sparrow', and then you'd come over with your sweet words, and you'd thumb the tears from my eyes and make me fall in love with you all over again." She stuck out her tongue at him.

Jack scowled happily. "See? It's a lot better than being married."

Squirrel smiled back a moment, then the smile slowly faded from her lips. "Well, what about the heart?" She whispered. "How is taking Jones' place any different to a marriage? You'd be giving up a lot of things to get what you want, and you'd have to be devoted to your course, no matter the cost or the price." She patted his arm. "Looks like you're bound for matrimony after all. Just of a different kind."

Jack was silent for a moment, face pulling wryly, regretfully, painfully, before he looked up at her. "As I said before," he murmured, "The plan still has a few problems." He smiled weakly. "Help?"

She sighed, and closed her eyes. "Jack Sparrow…" She would have laughed if something still didn't bother her. If she still didn't have that broken promise weighing on her conscience. She reached down and fingered with the compass, rubbing her thumb over the smooth silver.

Jack saw the motion, and his eyes went darker. "That's him, isn't it." It wasn't a question.

She looked up. "What?"

He focused on her. "That unfortunate lad who was in the boat with you. The one we brought aboard, that you were so worried about. That's him, isn't it? He's the one who gave you that."

Slowly, she nodded. She couldn't let go of the compass, and she had trouble finding her voice.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, but not out of anger or suspicion. "Do you love him?"

"He loves me." Squirrel thought her voice sounded very small.

"That doesn't answer my question." He tilted his head at her, waiting a few seconds, then looked up sharply through the hold. "Speak of the devil…"

Sam was headed through the darkness towards them, head down and focused on buttoning a clean shirt. His hair was neat and he was clean-shaven, though still had shadows under his eyes. He looked up, and saw Squirrel, and smiled, then saw Jack, and the smile stiffened on his face. "Good evenin'," the Irishman said softly, eyes moving carefully between the two. "Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

"Who're you?" Jack frowned.

"No, not at all," Squirrel said, at the same time, "The captain and I just finished a swordfighting lesson."

Sam gave her an amused smile. "Didn't think yeh needed any more lessons, Martha, not with the speed you have."

"They weren't for me," she shrugged, and gave him a sheepish smile. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Martha?" Jack frowned at Squirrel. "That's not what you said your name was."

Before she could even open her mouth to explain, Sam looked to her, in pained disbelief. "Oh," he said heavily, "So yeh found yeh name without me in th' end?"

"No," Squirrel shook her head, stepping to be a little closer to him, hands open and pleading. "I couldn't have found it without you." She smiled, then adjusted the collar of his shirt. Sam managed a small smile in return, and the pain around his eyes melted away slightly.

Jack cleared his throat noisily. Squirrel glanced back over her shoulder, and saw the captain standing in something of an imperious pose behind her: one hand on his hip, half-swayed and staring down his nose at them both. Waiting.

"Uh," Squirrel stepped aside and made the appropriate gestures between the two men, "Captain, this is Samuel Flynn. Sam, this is Jack Sparrow." Jack narrowed one eye warningly. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," she amended. She thought she saw Sam flinch slightly, but wasn't sure. It might have been her imagination.

The captain seemed appeased. "Good to meet you, sailor." Jack stuck his hand out to shake. "And I'm glad to see you up and about at last."

Sam returned the gesture. "Likewise, captain. Seems I owe yeh a great deal."

Squirrel looked between the two men, feeling her gut pinch. Their words were amicable enough, but their eyes and the lingering grip of their hands told a different story. _Just what we need. Another civil war aboard_. It seemed a long moment that the two men stood where they were, unmoving, before they withdrew their hands and stood back. They weren't exactly eyeing each other off, but there was a significant amount of tension in the air.

"Well," Jack said, turning nonchalantly to face Squirrel, "We'll be in sight of Shipwreck Island by morning." One eye flicked in Sam's direction. "What, exactly, were your duties when you served under Barbossa?"

Sam's lips were a thin line. "Lookout, quartermaster, and riggin'-rat, sir."

Jack gave a short snort. "Rigging-rat. I like that." He looked back to Squirrel again. "You rest up, get your strength back, and then you two'll be lookout-ing as we head for the Cove. Savvy?"

"Aye, captain," Sam said curtly. Squirrel just nodded.

Jack spared one last glance for Squirrel - it was so laden with hundreds of possible meanings that she had no idea what he was trying to convey to her - before he turned and sashayed back up the stairs, headed for his cabin. A silence lingered in his wake. Sam just looked at Squirrel before he sighed and looked away again.

"Sam…"

"You said Jack," he kept his voice low and controlled, "Not Jack _Sparrow_. Yeh said the _Pearl_, not the _Black Pearl_." He shook his head and breathed out through his nose. "But I suppose I should have known. An' it makes sense why yeh never told me anythin'. Yeh always were one for givin' small mercies."

Squirrel bowed her head a moment, then bit her lip. "You know the stories, then?"

"Who doesn't?" He looked at her, hurt and confused. "_A stór_, yeh could at least have told me…"

"Told you what, Sam?" She reached up to fiddle with the coin around her neck.

"Maybe that yeh were in love with a legend. Might have made me know I stood no chance."

She lifted her head, eyes wide. "I never…" She looked down again, and the weight of her necklace and amulet combined seemed so very heavy now. "I didn't… I…" Her left hand balled into a fist, while her right rubbed across the stones and the silver coin around her throat.

Sam looked at her, face blank. "'Complicated', yeh said. Well, it makes sense now." He looked up the stairs, through to the night sky that was now clear and cloudless. "But I suppose it's easier for you, then, aye?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You love stories, _a stór_," He looked at her, hazel eyes filled with pain. "And that man en't nothin' but. What am I? Nothin'. Nothin' at all, compared to the likes of him. I don't even have a tale t' me own neeme worth the tellin'."

"That's not true." She wanted to reach for him, but the stones were weighing her down.

He shook his head and started to walk away. "Oh, aye, it is."

His pain made her angry, afraid, though she couldn't explain why. Perhaps because it felt like Sam was slipping away right before her eyes, like he was dying in front of her all over again. She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, made him turn to face her.

"You're right that I love stories," she said, "And you're right about Jack Sparrow being full of them." She dropped her hand because Sam's skin was too warm to hold, even through the cloth of his shirt. "But that's the thing, Séamus. I heard the stories, and I loved him because of them. Yet travelling with him, sailing on his ship as part of his crew… He and the stories aren't the same thing. I learned that. That man, despite how wonderful he may be, he's… he's not worth it." _Funny how Gibbs' words don't sound right when I'm the one saying them. _She looked down at her feet. "But I stay because of the stories." Her voice was trembling and her vision was blurring. "That's why it's complicated. Because I'm a fool."

Sam looked at her, then sighed and ruffled a hand through his hair. "Ah, I'm doin' it again. Despite me promise."

"I'm pretending not to notice." Squirrel wiped at her eyes then looked up at the Irishman. "You _do_ have stories, Sam. You said you've been around Cape Horn thirteen times before you met us."

"True. But those stories probably won't be nearly as interestin' as stories about battles with the devil, or cursed treasure, or cannibal kings," Sam said wryly.

"I'm a little tired of 'interesting'," Squirrel said faintly, with a smile to match. "Just for once, I'd like to hear a story that's as true as the man telling it." The words echoed strangely around her, and it took a moment for Squirrel to realise what, exactly, she'd said. It felt like she was looking out across the open water after spending years only seeing waves through a porthole. The expanse of it frightened her, awed her, fascinated her, all at the same time. She backed away from the thoughts, quickly, unable to comprehend the immensity of them; she flicked her eyes away from Sam's and chewed her lip.

Sam looked at her fondly, and sadly, for a moment. Then he smiled a little. "Yeh… yeh really found yeh neeme, _a stór_?"

This she could understand, this she could interact with without feeling overwhelmed. She smiled back, and nodded. "Yes. And I never would have found it without you."

"How's that?"

She smiled. "You're the only one who knew it. It just took me a while to realise that you did."

The Irishman looked puzzled, so Squirrel told him. He stared at her for a bare second of incomprehension, then grinned his usual smile, dimples and all. "Oh, aye!" Sam laughed. "Of course. That meekes perfect sense, that does." He chuckled. "Though I feel a right fool fer not guessin' _that_ one." He laughed again.

"I look forward to hearing some of those stories of yours soon, Samuel Flynn," she told him and she turned away, heading slowly to her bunk. "But for now, I need to sleep."

Sam watched her go, eyes conveying more than his words ever could. "Sweet dreams, _a stór mo chroí_."

"And I want to know what that means someday!"

He smiled kindly at her, but there was something of a stubborn smirk to his lips as he turned away, humming a jaunty, familiar tune on his way to the galley.

* * *

The next morning the _Pearl_ converged on an island. Two plumes of smoke rose from the wide-mouthed crater of a blackened and broken mountain. Even from a distance, it seemed a forbidding place, and that impression did not change even as the ship neared it and Squirrel was able to examine the island in greater detail. She hung from the rigging and craned her neck up, squinting against the noonday glare and the height of the cliffs.

Sam hung nearby, and breathed out heavily, impressed. "No beaches, no place t' harbour, nothin' at all that would mark this a haven of any sort." He craned his head back as Squirrel was doing. "This place is truly a fortress."

"Mmm," Squirrel frowned slightly, and glanced down where Jack and the crew were gathered, watching the walls of stone and unfriendly vegetation pass them by. "Let's hope there's room for us within it." _And that Jack's plan doesn't go awry_.

Gibbs barked orders to the crewmen, in his element now that there were men to shout at and duties to be done. "Look alive and keep a weather eye! It's not for naught its called Shipwreck Island, where lies Shipwreck Cove and the town of Shipwreck!" Perhaps the words were meant as a warning, but to Squirrel they seemed jarringly redundant. Pintel barked a confirmation of the order, and the men scattered to their duties. Squirrel turned and climbed higher in the rigging, and saw the ropes to her right swaying as Sam and others did the same.

_So here we are, then,_ she thought, looking out across the water for hidden reefs or other dangers, scrabbling prow-wards. _At last. Shipwreck Island_. She gave a brief puzzled glance at the impassable stone cliffs as she found a seat in the lines. _So, how then do we find Shipwreck Cove? There doesn't look to be anything here but cliffs and the sea. If there is an entrance hidden somewhere here, it'll take skill to reach it. Unless, of course, this is one of those places as in the stories_. She gave a muted smile. _One of those places that can't be found except by those who already know where it is_. She almost laughed, but soft, low voices below her made her pause. She looked down, and saw Tia and Barbossa locked in another one of their discussions. Squirrel quickly turned her face to the water, determined not to eavesdrop, but at the last moment looked back, curious.

"… I do not renege on a bargain once struck, but we agreed on ends only. The means were for me to decide." He reached out to caress the woman's face, as he had done to Squirrel many times before.

Tia slapped his hand away, catching it in her smooth hand. "Caution, Barboosa," she warned, her voice betraying her barely-repressed anger. "Do not forget it was by my power you return from deh dead…" Barbossa's hand wilted in her grip, his skin and flesh shrivelling and dying. "Or what it mean," Tia added, as Barbossa stared in horror at his skeletal hand, "If you fail me." She threw his hand aside - his flesh returned - and turned to storm imperiously away.

Squirrel stared, frozen, though not entirely from fear.

The old captain proved once again that age did not deny him his speed or strength. His arm snapped out, and he swung Tia back around to face him. "And don't you forget why you had to bring me back! Why I could not leave Jack to his well-deservéd fate." Tia bowed her head somewhat. He almost snarled at her. "It took nine Pirate Lords to bind you, _Calypso_, and it will take no less than nine to set you free!" He let go of Tia at last, and glanced sideways. "Masters Pintel and Ragetti!"

The two pirates jumped to attention. Above them, Squirrel tried not to move, tried not to draw attention to herself.

Barbossa looked Tia up and down with something like disgust. "Take this… _fishwife_… to the brig."

Pintel and Ragetti tried to take the woman's arms. "Right this way, Mrs Fish." But Tia shook herself free, glared at Barbossa one last time, then turned and marched off. She held her head high like a queen, with the two pirates meekly following her like courtiers. Anyone watching would have no clue Tia was no a prisoner, but anyone watching would not have heard what was said. Not like Squirrel had.

Squirrel blinked slowly. She felt like several pieces of a long-unsolved puzzle were finally put into place, so she was not all that surprised by what was revealed. But still, she was more than a little uneasy. She'd seen it coming, true, but had hoped otherwise. Squirrel glanced further up the deck, and saw she wasn't alone in viewing this masquerade. Jack had also watched the confrontation unfold, and he frowned curiously. His eyes flicked up to the rigging, and he saw Squirrel watching; he made a gesture with his head, a questioning kind of motion. Squirrel shrugged, not quite sure of what answer to give. She glanced back to Barbossa. The pirate curled and uncurled his fingers, flexing his hand, and she saw a flicker of never-before-seen fear in those ice-blue eyes of his. Fear… and despair.

He hid that very quickly as Squirrel's feet thudded firmly on the deck behind him, and he turned to face her.

Squirrel considered him a moment, trying to find the right words to say. Barbossa saw her hesitation, and knew straight away.

"Oh, what must ye think of me, angel?" He burred, sarcastic and defensive.

"I think you lied," Squirrel said softly.

He snorted derisively at her, then turned his back.

"And that it was very unwise to antagonise the only person aboard who can kill you without even breaking a sweat."

Icy silence.

Squirrel took a breath, took the time to find the proper phrases and the most harmless words. "I always knew," she said gently, remaining where she'd landed, trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, "That there was a reason behind your reason." Barbossa had comforted her in the cold; now, his manner was cold and there was no comfort she could offer that he would accept. "An ace up your sleeve, as it were." She looked away, saw Tia Dalma as she was led - or led the way - below. The word was a whisper, not such much as in awe but Squirrel's mode of showing an understanding of why the secret was kept as it was. "_Calypso_…"

Barbossa rounded on Squirrel, eyes angry and hands balled into fists. "I don't have to explain meself t' the likes of ye, Miss Grey." He all but spat the words.

She didn't even flinch, though inwardly she was terrified of this sudden change in the man she thought she knew. "Who said I wanted an explanation?"

He glared at her, silent in the wake of her gentle words. She stared back, trying her hardest not to tremble where she stood, trying to convey something that would not seem like an accusation. Eventually, Barbossa snorted again, and pushed past her to move back down to the deck.

Squirrel let him shoulder her aside, and stood where she was a moment longer, licking her lips and thinking. She flicked her eyes up, once, and saw Jack once again glancing her way, once again giving that questioning look. She had less of an answer now. But what she did have was an all-but-complete picture. And a story that finally made sense, even now after all the different ways it had been told.

"Lass!" Gibbs called up to her. "Need your eyes on the water!"

Squirrel headed for the lines and clambered back up to her place. As she watched and called out the locations of hidden rocks and other dangers, the soft fuzzy outlines of a plan were laid down in her mind.

* * *

Eventually the _Black Pearl_ reached a gaping cave entrance, laced with hanging vines and salt-resistant grasses. The tide was too low for the ship to enter such a cave, so the anchor was dropped and men were given the order to be at ease. Cards and dice were brought up, and Squirrel had to fight to prevent herself from reading the outcomes. She had a more important hand to play, with an outcome far more uncertain.

"Sam?"

The Irishman looked up at her from where he lay, relaxed on the deck. "Aye, Miss Grey?"

"I need your help for something."

He squinted up at her though the late afternoon light, then pulled himself to a sitting position. "Alright, then."

Squirrel frowned a little. "Well, don't agree to it yet. You don't even know what I'm going to ask."

"Yeh know I don't care." Sam grinned until his dimples showed, and hauled himself to his feet. "So, what is it yeh need?"

Squirrel glanced around the deck to make sure she would not be overheard, then asked him in a low voice, "How fast can you write?"

He scratched his clean-shaven chin in thought. "I dunno. Never really thought about it."

"Could you write fast enough to follow a conversation?"

He shrugged. "I never tried t'. If they don't speak t' fast I might be able t' follow, keep notes with a shorthand script." He tilted his head. "Why? Who'll I be listening to?"

Squirrel pressed her lips together a moment. "Maybe it's best if I don't tell you." She turned on her heel and motioned for him to follow.


	23. Bound In Human Form

**Disclaimer**: Squirrel and Beckett would have very conflicted babies. Lawl.

**A/N**: Going away for the next two weeks. I hope this tides you over. When I come back I'll be writing like crazy!

* * *

"Ah," Tia's silken voice curled through the air as Squirrel descended into the brig, "'Ave yeh coom t' set me free, Miss Greeh?" The woman smiled with those inky teeth of hers. 

Squirrel didn't smile back. "There's more to freedom than a lack of bars and locks, Tia Dalma."

Tia laughed, a throaty chuckle that curled into a coquettish gasp by the end of it. "An' 'ere I t'ought you had no patience for riddles, chil'. Yet 'ere you are, tellin' ones of your oown."

Squirrel said nothing for a long moment. Then she looked to the far wall and gave a mirthless smile and a shake of the head before looking back to Tia and asking, "Why did you help me?"

Tia raised an eyebrow. "'Elp you, Miss Greeh? What do you mean?"

Squirrel shook her head. "You told me about my name, you patched up my hand, you left that bottle of '_shou_' out in plain sight, knowing full well I'd take it. And Barbossa even looked to you before he allowed Sam to come aboard." Squirrel narrowed her eyes. "Why? Why go to all that trouble? What payment could you possibly get from helping someone who doesn't trust you in the least?"

Tia's smile lessened slightly, but her lips were still curved. "Yet peey me you did, Miss Greeh."

"Only for stealing the alcohol, and even then with a handful of sand. What of the rest? What do you get out of seeing me well and whole?" She frowned slightly. "Or is that the payment in itself? Explain it to me, Tia Dalma, because I don't quite understand." Squirrel stepped closer to the bars. "Why did you help me?"

Tia sat down on the stool that was in her cell and looked lazily up at Squirrel. "Sheem on you, Miss Greeh. You t'ink dat I wouldn't act out of deh goodness of my own 'eart?"

Squirrel smiled slowly, a cold sibyl-like smile, and whispered through the bars. "You're not that altruistic, Calypso. And even if you have a heart, that's not why you acted."

Tia's eyes snapped wide, and she leapt to her feet. She stood half-crouched, as though to run or to fight, but her eyes were locked on Squirrel's. She looked panicked, angry, surprised; she looked like she wanted to speak, but as unable to find the words. Her secret was out - others knew Tia's true identity now.

Squirrel took a breath and let it out slowly. "You know… I always knew you weren't who you said you were. I just didn't want to put my mind around what you might have been." She remembered seeing Tia holding back the sky, remembered her standing on the prow of the _Diana_ as they rounded Cape Horn, remembered Tia's riddles and her silent knowing eyes. "But I always knew."

Tia said nothing, but her eyes narrowed further.

"Sao Feng was right," Squirrel added, contemplatively. "Of the three women aboard the _Diana_, one of them was the 'woman of the sea'. Problem was, I didn't take him literally. He used so many metaphors, so why should that one be taken as it was? And let's not forget that Miss Swann and I both were women of the sea. But you… You _were_ the sea."

The wariness in Tia's eyes was slowly replaced with amusement, and she relaxed, even laughing a little. "A liddle knowledge can be a dangerous t'ing, Miss Greeh." Her eyes flashed a moment, a hint of danger. "What, I wonder, will you do wit' it?"

"That's none of your business at the moment," Squirrel told the woman flatly. "You still haven't answered my question. And I want the whole truth, not just a 'different version' of it."

Tia laughed, that same throaty chuckle, though this time the laugh was underscored with a distinct layer of menace. Squirrel felt a chill go down her spine, and her hand went unconsciously to her dagger. As soon as her fingers brushed the hilt, Squirrel looked down, and saw what she was doing. She looked up to Tia, alarmed. Tia just smirked.

"Deh trut'?" Tia purred, "Well, deh trut' in't alweeys…"

Squirrel interrupted, snatching her hand away from her weapon. "Why help me, Tia? What do you stand to gain from that?"

The woman said nothing for a moment, then smiled faintly. "What indeed?"

Squirrel slammed her hands against the bars, setting the metal clanging and rattling, and Tia jumped back out of reach, startled. Both women eyed each other off for a long moment, saying nothing. Then Squirrel pointed a finger, accusing, demanding, through the cell bars.

"Ever since the first day I met you, I've known about your games." She curled her hand back. "Makes me wonder… perhaps this destiny you talk about isn't destiny at all? Perhaps its just you pulling the strings, and then claiming something like fate was the one who did all the work?"

Tia drew herself up in challenge. "Dehstiny moves in different weeys, chil'! I am but a servant!"

"_Gou shi dui_," Squirrel stepped back and folded her arms. "You've been manipulating us, all of us, from the very beginning. Ever since the day we met you. "You fed us nothing but half-truths and truths out of context. We're all pawns in a game to you." Tia glowered silently. Squirrel sighed shortly. "It took me a while to see that, Tia, but now the only thing I've yet to understand is what for. What, Calypso, do you want?"

"My freedom." The woman's voice trembled with barely-concealed rage and her eyes welled with unshed tears. "I 'ave bin trapped like dis for years. I wan' to be free."

"I don't blame you," Squirrel lowered her voice. "Freedom's a worthy cause. But why all this?" She gestured to the walls of the _Pearl_. "Why give Jack the jar of dirt and directions to the key and the chest? Why make your bargain with Hector, his life for your freedom? Why help me?" She shook her head, feeling the answer just out of reach. "What's the point of this, Calypso? What are you going to do once you're free?"

Tia smiled, so utterly slowly, that Squirrel was chilled to the marrow.

A long silence hung between them, like cobwebs, heavy and oppressive. Finally Tia sat down, and arranged her skirts around her, as though preparing for a tea party with an honoured guest. Squirrel stood, awkwardly, on the other side of the bars, all but frozen.

"Is it deh trut' you wanted, den?" Tia glanced sidelong at Squirrel, eyes slanted. "Well, den, dat's quite a riddle."

"Just answer me, Tia," Squirrel snapped, "What benefit was there in keeping me _alive_?" Suddenly, she rocked back on her heels, stunned by realisation. "I… I don't even need to ask that question, do I? Because it's the answer to my first question, too…"

Tia curled fingers through her dreadlocked hair and lifted one shoulder impishly, looking over it with a glance that would have made any man powerless. For a moment, Squirrel saw herself, the wind wild in her hair and the sea stretching before her, standing on the prow of her own ship, with men at her beck and call, men at her bidding. Men like Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, Hector Barbossa, James Norrington, Sam Flynn, Sao Feng, Cutler Beckett, and even Davy Jones himself. All of them craning, desperate, pleading for just a taste of what she had to offer…

Squirrel shook her head, banishing the smoke of those thoughts. "Trapped in human form," she muttered, looking at the wooden planking rather than risking Tia's voodoo snaring her again. "That was the story, the legend. But it doesn't matter _which_ human, does it? As long as you're trapped?" She clenched her fists. "That's why you warned me, healed me, prepared me for this voyage. Why you helped me. Calypso was bound in human form." Squirrel risked looking up, but warily, ready to turn her eyes away at any moment. "But if the form she was in was wounded or even killed… she still wouldn't be free, would she? She'd still imprisoned… just elsewhere." Squirrel swallowed. "Am I wrong?"

"Perhaps," the witch purred tauntingly, "Or perhaps not."

"Same story, different version," Squirrel muttered, trying not to show how afraid she was. "I see." She looked to the stairwell. The night air had never seemed so inviting. But Squirrel wasn't going to flee yet.

"No, you don' see." Tia shook her hair free and arched her back slightly. "Dis body become my cage when I were captured. If I should have to leave dis cage, I'd rat'er be contained in one of my own choosin'. And, after all," she smiled inkily, eyes dark, "We are very similar, you an' I, Miss Greeh."

"Ah," Squirrel said calmly, unconsciously moving away from the cell, "So that's what it's all about, then. Control."

Tia smiled and inclined her head, acknowledging the answer.

Squirrel snorted and shook her head. "Well, if you seek to control others' lives as much as you do your own, it's a small wonder you were imprisoned like this."

Tia's face contorted into a savage snarl. "Get out."

Squirrel nodded, and turned away. But as she set one foot on the stairs and a hand on the railing, she looked back over her shoulder to the woman in the cell. "This isn't over, you know."

"Of course not, Miss Greeh," Tia said, stepping back into the shadows. Her eyes glittered brown-gold through the darkness, and her smile curved sharply, venomously. "But will be, soon enough."

Squirrel hurried up the stairs, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the woman as possible. She made a small curling motion with her hand as she climbed higher, and a figure silently detached itself from the darkness and followed her up to the uppermost level of the hold, closest to the torch- and starlight.

Squirrel took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly, banishing all the shaking and shivering. "Did you hear all that?"

"Aye," Sam nodded, looking pale. "That I did."

Squirrel nodded as well, but it was an absent motion. "You think you can do it? What I asked of you?"

"I'll try my best." He glanced at the stairs. "I could use charcoal to follow the words, I think, and then write it all up in ink when it's over." He shook himself a little. "That was some unpleasantly, make no mistake." Squirrel rubbed her arms as though she were cold, and Sam looked at her in concern. "You alright?"

"I'll be fine." She breathed the word out. "But what about you? You don't have to do this, you know. You can go to the Brethren Court with Jack and Hector."

The Irishman smiled wryly. "No thankyeh. I'd rather be here, followin' yeh orders, than goin' to the pirates' council."

Squirrel raised an eyebrow, Sam's smile banishing the darkness of Tia's words from her mind. "Oh? Why's that?"

"Pssh, are yeh kiddin' me?" He raised his arms in half a shrug and half an expansive, exasperated motion. "From what I hear of the two captains aboard, we're damned near lucky there weren't no bloodshed. But nine captains in a single room?" He shook his head. "That's trouble, and make no mistake."

Squirrel laughed. "You're a wise man, Samuel Flynn."

"Aye," he said, as they started to climb the stairs up to the deck, "And if yeh were half as smart as I knoo yeh are, yeh'd stay out of there too."

She shook her head. "I have to be there, Sam. I need both sides of the story."

He sighed, defeated but as though he already knew the outcome. "Well, I'll do me best."

"I know you will." She wanted to reach out to him, touch him, reassure him or thank him in some way, but the moment passed far too quickly, and she was left with her arms by her sides and he with his eyes turned to the cliff walls that surrounded the ship.

"Tide's turned. We're going through," Ragetti came over, holding a torch in his both hands. "Apparently, once we're on the other side, we'll be in the town of Shipwreck." He smiled slightly at Squirrel, and passed her one of the torches.

"Shipwreck?" Sam mused, staring up at the dark walls of the cave as the _Pearl_ pushed forward. "With a name like that, makes yeh wonder what its history is."

"Or what stories we'll hear once we're there," Squirrel said faintly.

Sam looked at her at last, and pressed his lips together in what could have been a smile, if his eyes weren't so full of worry. Then darkness engulfed the _Pearl_, and even the torches and lanterns weren't enough to see his face.

* * *

"Oh, it's beautiful!" 

As the _Pearl_ emerged from the cavern, the first thing they saw were the thousands and thousands of lights and the vast number of ships that were moored in the cove. And, of course, in the middle of it all, a huge tower-like structure made from vessels of every size and nationality. Like some kind of glittering obelisk, a tribute to freedom and tenacity and the laws of devil-may-care.

Sam was standing beside Squirrel, eyes just as awed as hers. "That's incredible." He chuckled. "The town of Shipwreck's meed from wrecked ships."

"How would they do that?" Squirrel's eyes traced the lines of the hulls, dazzled by the distant lights of torches and lanterns that shone like so many stars. "How would they build something like that?"

"Patience and hard work, most like."

Squirrel smirked faintly. "Doesn't sound much like pirates to me."

"Oh, yeh never knoo," Sam scratched his chin absently, "Some pirates got more patience than yeh might credit 'em fer." Squirrel thought of Jack for a moment, then - ashamed of her assumptions - glanced to Sam, and wondered whose patience he was speaking of.

The rest of the crew hadn't missed the spectacle of Shipwreck Cove either. "Lookit them all!" Pintel stared at all the ships moored in the harbour.

Barbossa stood at the prow, smirking. "There's naught been a gathering like this in our lifetime," he burred.

Jack slipped up bside him, looking out with a little less enthusiasm. "An' I owe them all money." Squirrel hid a smile.

Barbossa rolled his eyes, then turned to address the crew. "All ashore that's goin' ashore! Make ready t' weigh anchor!"

"All ashore that going ashore!" Jack echoed, turning and flailing after Barbossa. "Make ready to weigh anchor!"

The crew started to get themselves ready, accustomed now to the two captains attempting to maintain control. Sam and Squirrel remained at the railing a moment, watching as the _Pearl_ nosed herself through the cavern and into the flooded caldera of the island.

"I thought it was volcanic," Squirrel murmured, "Given the smoke I saw from the afternoon. But it's not. The smoke comes from the fires here." She glanced up, to the twin plumes. "They must channel it somehow, through chimneys or something, to hide the number of those living here. Brilliant."

Sam drummed his palms on the wood a moment, restless, then he pushed himself away from the rail. "Best get me things," he murmured. He flexed his fingers, looking wistfully at his hands as though imagining he held his violin.

"Sam." Squirrel turned away from the sights. "Are you sure about this?"

He nodded slowly, then shook his head. "Not really."

Squirrel bit her lip. "Maybe you should go with Hector and Jack. At least you'd be able to see what was coming."

"And leave yeh here, alone?" Sam quirked an eyebrow. "_A stór_, I think yeh've had more'n yeh fair share o' that in yeh life already."

Squirrel felt herself blush a little. "But I can take care of myself, don't forget. And I think I know what's coming." She wanted to reach out, wanted to brush her hand against his face, touch his arm in some reassuring manner, but she found she couldn't. She wanted to, but _couldn't_. "If you stay… If you stay, the only protection that you'll have is my prayers."

The _Pearl_ jolted against her anchor chain, nudging the dock at the same time. Ropes were thrown down, securing the ship a little better, and the gangplank was lowered. The crew started to swarm ashore, those who stayed after Sao Feng departed ship standing on the dock with weapons held loose but ready, guarding the ship, while the Pearl's crew made ready for an expedition further in.

Sam smiled softly. "That's more'n I could ask for."

"Oi!" Jack shouted from the gangplank, jolting Squirrel, "Luv, you coming?"

Sam nodded to her. "Yeh'd better get a move on."

Squirrel's heart thundered, a slow patient throbbing. "Be safe, Séamus."

The Irishman in the blue coat wished her well in return, using her real name, then turned and went below. Squirrel watched him for as long as her eyes would let her see, then turned and followed after Jack.

"What was all that about?" Jack asked, wrinkling his nose curiously as she joined the crew.

"Well," she said lightly, jokingly, "Last time we left him alone, he and the ship vanished into the night." She smiled at Barbossa. "I was just making sure that it wasn't going to happen again."

There were a few smiles from the rest of the crew, but Barbossa snorted, face twisted sourly, and stomped off. Evidently, he was in no mood for jests. Squirrel wondered if Barbossa even considered her words in that vein. _He probably still thinks I'm going to betray him, now that I know about Calypso, and that everything I say is a subtle threat_, Squirrel thought, with a sigh. _But he should know how dangerous it is to have Tia aboard. And he should know me better than that._

Jack glanced back at his ship as the group walked away, a little worried. "The _Pearl_ will still be here when we get back, right?"

Squirrel forced her thoughts away from the riddle of Calypso and Barbossa, and forced a smile to match. "Of course. I trust him."

Jack pulled his lips sideways, clearly unconvinced, then sighed in resignation. He took off his hat as he walked, and plonked it on Squirrel's head.

"What am I," she complained with a smile, "A hat stand?"

Jack grinned back at her, and linked her arm though his, forcing her to walk at his unsteady swaying pace. "But it looks good on you."

Squirrel rolled her eyes at him, then turned her attention to the gigantic monolith of ship hulls that towered over them. Somewhere inside the Brethren Court were meeting. Squirrel felt her blood race in anticipation and excitement. _The greatest pirates that the world has to offer are meeting in there, and we're going to join them!_ Even so, she couldn't help but look back, to the guards that lounged on the dock, to the ship they were guarding, and, even though she couldn't see him, the one man left aboard. And she couldn't help but feel the smallest bit of fear for him and his safety.

* * *

**A/N**: Squirrel's used that particular phrase in Chinese before. Heh. 


	24. The Brethren Court

**Disclaimer**: We have a favourable wind, sir. Shall I run out the mermaid-line?

**A/N**: Warning. This chapter is incredibly long, to make up for my delays and absences while overseas and otherwise. Contains a squealing fangirl, fluff, lies, secrets, a scene deleted from the movie, awkward moments, a callback to the goat-joke, a comment on how Geoffery Rush's accent slipped, and a shrunken head. Enjoy.

* * *

"Looks like we got here first," Jack looked around the empty room, and smiled to himself, a trifle nervously. 

"Looks that way," Barbossa scowled, drawing his sword.

Jack gingerly freed his arm from Squirrel. "'Scuse me, luv." He, too, drew his sword. Squirrel held her breath, fully expecting a brawl of some sort. But Jack merely plunged his sword into the yellowed enamel globe that stood near the entranceway to the room, striking through to the heart of the Caribbean Sea. Jack saw her curious look, and grinned.

"'S tradition," he explained, as Barbossa went around to the other side of the globe to pierce the Caspian Sea, "Each Pirate Lord's s'posed to be unarmed when they come into the room. Plus, it's a way of showing who here and who ain't." He flinched a little as Barbossa stabbed the globe with unnecessary force; the older captain pulled a surly scowl by way of reply.

"Unarmed?" Squirrel glanced at Gibbs, Cotton, Marty, Pintel and Ragetti, all of whom were bearing weapons of some degree; she also glanced down to the sword and dagger hanging from her hip and the sash of daggers that crossed her chest. "Really?"

Jack adjusted the way his hat sat on Squirrel's head, fiddling with the way her hair was arranged. "Captains only, luv. You lot are right as you are." He flicked the jade bauble hanging from her earring before turning away.

"I see." She glanced around the room, a huge stateroom made from the hull of a ship. It was decorated with figureheads of vessels, empty bottles, candles, boxes, crates, and any and all other miscellany that could and would be found on a ship. And yet the floor beneath her feet didn't rock - this was as solid a land Squirrel had set foot on since the day she walked the Kraken's final resting place.

It was something of a sobering thought.

A huge wooden table filled the majority of the room, studded with nine huge ornate wooden chairs. "Who sits where?" Squirrel asked. "Is there any significance to the head of the table?" Barbossa and Jack immediately started glaring at each other, tensed up as though ready to run and claim the seat of power for their own.

Given the captains were otherwise occupied, it was Gibbs who answered. "Generally speaking, it be the Pirate King who sit at the head of the table." Both captains started to nonchalantly saunter towards the chair, each one laying a hand on the wood to claim it for their own.

Squirrel raised a sardonic eyebrow. "And when it's not 'generally speaking'?"

Gibbs sighed a little. "Then all's fair in love, war and piracy, Miss Grey." He looked wearily over to where the captains stood. Squirrel was glad she hadn't asked who sat on the throne at the far end of the room.

"Move."

"No, ye should be th' one movin', Jack."

"I was here first."

"Age before wisdom."

"I have a ship, you don't. Move it."

They glowered at each other, each one determined to out-do the other. Unfortunately, the sound of voices and footsteps approaching meant that there would soon be more important matters than who would sit where.

Barbossa looked sourly at Jack, getting in one last dig. "I be the one who issued summons in the first place," he burred. "And I be the one responsible for bringin' ye back."

Jack glared a moment longer, then sighed, rolled his eyes, and shrugged loosely. "Then maybe I won't sit at all, then, aye?" He turned and sauntered back to stand beside Squirrel, and swayed back and forth on his heels without so much as a care on his face. Barbossa looked suspiciously at Jack - and at Squirrel, for a moment, who protested her innocence with wide eyes - before he turned to stare out one of the portholes of the room.

Squirrel raised an eyebrow at Jack. "Very mature," she murmured.

He frowned at her, hurt. "He started it."

She breathed a laugh, and shook her head.

Jack grinned, then turned back to Barbossa. "By the way?" He said simply, his fingers curling in the air, "Means we're square now." Squirrel bit down hard on her tongue to keep from laughing. Barbossa scowled, then composed his face as the Pirate Lords entered the room, one by one.

Squirrel shoved her fist into her mouth to stop herself from shouting out loud, but even so muffled gasps and squeals of excitement kept slipping out. The crew all glanced to her, curious; she didn't care. Her eyes felt like saucers as she beheld those legends whose stories she'd been raised on. The legends who were stabbing the globe with their swords, and taking their place within the very room in which she was standing.

"That's Captain Chevalle! I heard he, a great nobleman from Marseilles, lost his money, his lands, and his very title in a game of cards… against a woman! And Vallenueva, the Spanish pirate! Not even Queen Isabella would offer a privateering licence to that rogue! Ah! Gentleman Jocard! He took the name of his slave master, after he killed him. No-one knows what his real name is… Ooh! Sri Sumbhajee of the Indian Ocean! I'm surprised we didn't run into him on the way here. I heard that when he speaks, his very voice brings storms!"

Jack was wearing an absently patient yet amused face, and patted Squirrel's arm every now and then, either in an effort to calm her down or to acknowledge that he was listening. "Well," he interrupted as she paused to take a breath, "You've been chirpy since you got your memories back."

Squirrel shook her head, her wide eyes still focused on the pirates as they entered the room. "No, I've always remembered the stories. Every last one."

"But you're still chirpy."

"Granted. But that's just… Ooh! Look! Mistress Ching! Her husband - another great pirate - caught a dragon by the tail, and she called him a coward for not taking it by the throat! And that's Armand the Corsair… My word, his eyes are just as fierce as I imagined them to be! Do you really think he turned a whole convent of nuns on his own?"

Barbossa, leaning against the wall shrouded in shadow with his arms folded, gave a snort and rolled his eyes.

One by one, the Pirate Lords entered the room, flanked by their scowling crewmen. The Lords took their places around the table, seated themselves, and eyed each other off in silent challenge. While this glowering was going on, crewmen from each of the Lords' retainers placed a plate of food before their captains, as well as other various accoutrements. Squirrel noted two in particular, seeing as they were closest: Mistress Ching's crewmen set up an incense brazier in front of her, which sent up a comforting smell of sandalwood, and Armand's flunkies produced a bowl filled with seeds and nuts, which he picked at absently between glowering at the others. Silently, with dark darting eyes and furrowed brows, the captains started to eat.

_It's just like Singapore_, Squirrel thought, surprised, _When we ate together as a crew. That's what this is supposed to be. It's supposed to build camaraderie between the pirates_. She stifled a sigh as the glaring between the six seated captains got a little more menacing. _But if they all bring their own food, and no-one's talking, it's a wasted tradition. These captains are like dogs spoiling for a fight. No wonder Jack didn't want to come._

"Seems we are not all here just yet," Mistress Ching glanced about the room with blind eyes, though how she could see was a mystery - but a bit of wonder - to Squirrel. "Where is Sao Feng?"

"He be on his way, m'lady," Barbossa assured her, his voice the same polite gentleman's tone that he'd often used with Squirrel. "Mark me if the _Empress_ don't dock in the next few hours." The captains and their crew started muttering and talking amongst themselves, some of them rising to their feet and turning their backs on the others to make sure that their discussions were private.

Jack glanced for a moment to Squirrel - a flicker of something like guilt in his eyes - then turned his attention to the globe, pulling on the swords with a finger and letting them go again so that they wobbled. Squirrel shuffled back to stand with the rest of the crew, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself.

"Did I hear Jack right?" Gibbs whispered to her, "You got your memories back?"

Squirrel nodded. "Yes. All of them."

"Wot, even your name?" Pintel also kept his voice down.

She beamed at them all. "Yes. Even that." Gibbs clapped a hand on her shoulder, Cotton gave her a thumbs-up, and the other three of the crew grinned at her in silent congratulations.

Barbossa picked up a ball-and-chain from the table before him, and banged one of the heavy weights on the table three times for silence, and order to which everyone in the room complied. "As he who issued summons," Barbossa stated, "I convene this: the fourth Brethren Court." The Pirate Lords retook their seats and made themselves comfortable, their crewmen removing the empty dishes.

"Fourth?" Squirrel frowned.

"Aye," Gibbs said, about to elaborate, but a look and a shake of the head from Jack silenced him. "But them's tales for other times, Miss Grey," he finished in a whisper. Jack seconded this statement with a motion for her to be silent, and to watch. Squirrel did as she was told.

Barbossa made a flicking gesture to Ragetti, who held a bowl. The pirate scuttled out from the group as Barbossa continued to speak. "To confirm your lordship and right to be heard, present now your pieces of eight, me fellow cap'ns."

Squirrel felt a little cold all of a sudden. She'd played games of chance long enough to know when someone was cheating. _This is wrong. He shouldn't be doing that. Should he?_ She glanced to Jack, as if seeking some kind if reassurance that this was just another one of the traditions of the Court, but he was still preoccupied with the swords in the globe. Just as Squirrel was about to turn away, still puzzled and unsettled, Jack glanced up at her, and nodded slowly, knowingly, his eyes dark.

Squirrel returned her gaze to the gathered captains, and tried to keep her thoughts from her face.

Ragetti scuttled around the table, bowl held before him, and the Pirate Lords. Sri Sumbhajee dropped into the bowl a small curved tusk, and, for a moment, Squirrel thought the pirate was mocking them. This thought was quickly dispelled when Chevalle pulled a yellowed playing card - _Queen of spades_, part of Squirrel noted absently - from his sleeve and dropped it in, and when Vallenueva tossed in the broken neck of a glass bottle with careful but wary reverence.

"Those aren't pieces of eight," Pintel muttered, "They're just pieces of junk!"

"Aye," Gibbs nodded, "The original plan was to use nine pieces of eight to bind Calypso, but when the First Court met they were, to a one, skint broke." Squirrel barely held back a snort of laughter, not just at what was said but at the matter-of-fact way Gibbs said it.

Pintel's face screwed up in a frown. "So change the name."

Jocard dropped in what seemed to be a tobacco cutter, Mistress Ching a set of eyeglasses on a string, and Armand flourished and cast in a metal brandy cup.

"What?" Gibbs looked disparagingly at the pirate beside him, "To 'the nine pieces of whatever we happened to have in our pockets at the time'?" He rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. That sounds very piratey."

Ragetti returned to Barbossa, hunched over the bowl, embarrassed that all eyes were on him. Barbossa rolled out his palm. "Master Ragetti, if ye will."

Ragetti looked up, and tried to smile. "I-I kept it safe for you, just like you said when you gave it to me."

"Aye, ye have." Barbossa smiled for a bare second. "But now I need it back." He swung up his left hand and smacked the pirate sharply on the back of his head, and Ragetti flinched as his eye popped out of its socket. Barbossa caught it in his already-open palm, rolled it a moment, and then dropped it into the bowl.

"Huh," Squirrel said.

All eyes turned further up the table, to the globe in the corner. "Sparrow," Vallenueva growled, voicing the thoughts of the other Pirate Lords. Barbossa's icy eyes focused hard and long on Jack, waiting, watching…Squirrel narrowed her eyes curiously. _You want them all, don't you, Hector? Every last 'piece of eight'. But to and for what purpose?_

Jack fidgeted nervously under the collective gaze of the Court, and - in an unconscious gesture that Squirrel knew damned him - he reached up and fiddled with the beads that hung from his bandana. She noticed it, and judging from the way Barbossa tensed slightly, he did too. Squirrel slid one hand down to the hilt of her dagger, not wanting to be caught unprepared should Barbossa try something.

Jack swayed forward, gesturing expansively. "Might I point out that we are still short one Pirate Lord," he said, voice as smooth as oil, even as he faced Barbossa in a pleasant challenge, "And I'm content as a cucumber to wait until Sao Feng joins us."

"Sao Feng is dead."

Squirrel had heard the soft footfalls behind her before she'd even heard the voice, so she'd known who was coming. But it wasn't until Squirrel whirled around to see Elizabeth with her own eyes that she could even believe the fact of it. She stared, wide-eyed and frozen, at the sight of the young woman standing there, at the head of a group of familiar Asian faces, dressed in black silks and with eyes hard and mirthless.

It was impossible, unbelievable. And yet there stood Miss Swann.

"He was killed by the _Flying Dutchman_," Elizabeth stated, moving out of the shadows, drawing her sword as she came.

The Brethren Court exploded in uproar. "The plague ship!" Mistress Ching cawed.

As Elizabeth came towards her, Squirrel flinched back out of her path. Elizabeth paused a moment, and looked Squirrel in the eye. Squirrel swallowed, nervous and guilt-ridden. But then Miss Swann did something unexpected.

She smiled.

It was a small one, meant to reassure and comfort when the giver clearly had far too many burdens of her own, but it was a smile nonetheless. A greeting between friends. Squirrel frowned, confused, trying to understand, but the moment passed all too quickly. Elizabeth stabbed her sword fiercely into the globe, over the dot on the map that was Singapore, and moved to take her place at the table.

"He made you captain?" Jack sounded outraged. "They're just giving the bloody title away now."

_Captain_ Squirrel rocked back, stunned. _Captain__ Swann?_ Her head spun, even as she glanced back to Tai Huang for confirmation of this fact. It didn't make any sense. Sao Feng had taken Elizabeth to ravish her, and yet he was dead, Elizabeth was in his place, and she seemed stronger than she'd been when she left! And Elizabeth could still smile after everything that had happened? It didn't make any sense. _Just what happened aboard the _Empress, _anyway?_

Jack nudged Squirrel and whispered to her. "I bet you she killed him."

Elizabeth heard, and looked to Jack, hurt and outraged. "Will you never forgive me?"

"No." Jack turned his back on her, pouting. Elizabeth gave a short annoyed sigh. Squirrel twisted her fingers together nervously.

"¡_Que lo manden al diablo_!" Vallenueva shouted, stabbing a finger in Elizabeth's direction, his voice just one among many of dissent and anger.

"Listen!" Elizabeth shouted, putting both hands on the table. "Listen to me!" The voices slowly died down as her urgent but calmly spoken words echoed throughout the room. "Our location has been betrayed. Jones is under the command of Lord Beckett. They're on their way here."

"Sam," Squirrel breathed, heart suddenly thundering in her chest in panic. She glanced to the doorway, biting her lip, but forced both herself and her thoughts to remain in the room. _We knew the risk. I knew the risk_. She stared at the backs of Jack, Barbossa and Elizabeth as the discussion continued.

"Who is this betrayer?" Jocard boomed.

Barbossa held up a hand, sweeping the air in a calming manner. "Not likely any among us."

Elizabeth looked around, frowning. "Where's Will?" She whispered.

"Not among us," Jack whispered back. Squirrel bit her lips silently, concerned. She was more than a little startled when Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to Squirrel for confirmation. It was all Squirrel could do to give a weak nod. That seemed enough for Elizabeth, for the time being.

"An' it matters not how they found us," Barbossa continued, speaking for the benefit of the Court, "The question is, what will we do now that they have?" He folded his hands in front of him serenely, considering his audience.

"We fight!" Elizabeth shouted.

Barbossa looked at her as though she were insane. The rest of the Court burst into laughter. Jack joined in, if only for appearance's sake.

"Shipwreck Cove is a fortress," Mistress Ching rose to her feet and spread her arms like a dancer in a Chinese opera, appealing to the sensibilities of the Brethren. "A well-supplied fortress! There is no need to fight if they cannot get to us." The Pirate Lords nodded, all of them in agreement for once.

Jack's face lost all laughter, and he glanced back and forth with some measure of concern. Squirrel licked her lips slowly, understanding all too well what Jack was thinking of. There was too much at stake here for idleness or apathy on behalf of the pirates.

"There be a third course," Barbossa said calmly.

The room fell quiet once more.

"In another age," Barbossa moved past Elizabeth, to stand near the crew and the unoccupied seat, "At this very spot, the first Brethren Court captured the sea goddess, and bound her in her bones."

Squirrel's thoughts reeled as the old song whispered through her mind. That song of defiance. How many times had she sung that song, hummed it while she worked, danced to it, dreamt of it? And yet not once had it ever been but a song to her. _But it's the story_, Squirrel realised, wide-eyed. _The story of what happened! The history of the pirates! And this story was told the best way to tell any story: through song!_ The sudden significance of this gave fuel to her thoughts, and helped put a few more pieces of the puzzle into place. She glanced out the window, down to where the _Pearl_ was moored.

The Brethren Court were nodding, well aware of their history. Barbossa was nodding too, but then suddenly shook his head. "That was a mistake." He gestured widely. "Oh, we tamed the seas for ourselves, aye, but opened the door to Beckett, and his ilk! Better were the days when mastery of seas came not from deals struck with eldritch creatures, but from the sweat of a man's brow and the strength of his back alone. Y'all know this t' be true!"

It was a persuasive argument. He was using just enough truth of the world, but not all of it. Squirrel might have agreed whole-heartedly with her friend, had she not heard him speak - only a few hours before - to Calypso about the deal _he_ had struck with _her_.

Barbossa moved back to his place. "Gentlemen," He faced the Brethren, then appealed to Elizabeth and Mistress Ching, even sparing a brief glance towards Squirrel, "Ladies…" He folded his hands in front again. "We must free Calypso."

Dead silence greeted his words. And then the room exploded in uproar once again.

"No!"

"No!"

"Shoot him!" Armand pointed.

"Cut out his tongue!" Jocard boomed.

Jack agreed, taking part in the clamour with glee, "Shoot him, cut out his tongue, and then shoot his tongue." He waved his hands at Barbossa's face. "And trim that scraggly beard." Squirrel smirked, knowing full-well that vanity was one of Barbossa's flaws, and that he'd take deep offence to that last comment. She would have paid gold to see the look on Barbossa's face at that moment.

Tai Huang stepped forward into the fray. "Sao Feng would have agreed with Barbossa."

"Aye!" Barbossa seconded.

Outraged, Squirrel pushed forward as well. "_Sao Feng su le_!"1 She snapped at Tai Huang. "I thought Elizabeth was your captain now!" Barbossa gave Squirrel a look which could have cut steel. Jack put a hand on her shoulder and quickly pulled her behind him again, out of sight and out of harm's way. Elizabeth smiled over her shoulder at Squirrel briefly. Not knowing how to react or what to think of this, Squirrel fell silent and looked away.

Jocard didn't seem to mind Squirrel's interruption. In fact, he seemed to agree. "Calypso was our enemy then. She will be our enemy now!"

Chevalle rose to his feet. "And it's unlikely her mood's improved," he added.

Vallenueva also stood, and faced Chevalle. "I would still agree with Sao Feng," he barked, taking his pistol from his belt and slamming it on the table between them. "We release Calypso!"

"You threaten me?" Chevalle asked, raising a disdainful eyebrow and stepping closer in answer to the challenge.

Vallenueva picked up his pistol. "I silence you!"

A French fist connected with a Spanish chin. There was the roar of gunpowder. One of these, or both, lit the powder keg that was the Brethren Court: everyone in the room was suddenly a combatant in a brawl more intense than any Squirrel had ever seen. Weapons were brandished, bottles smashed over heads, fists and insults flew in abandon, and some unfortunate men were even picked up and thrown about in the ruckus.

Even Tai Huang and his men, and Gibbs and the other lads were joining in. The end of the table closest to the door seemed to be the only calm spot in the whole room. Barbossa, Elizabeth and Jack remained unmoving except for occasional flinches, watching the spectacle. Squirrel took refuge in their shadows.

"This is madness," Elizabeth shook her head.

Jack shrugged. "This is politics."

Elizabeth sighed wearily. "Meanwhile, our enemies are bearing down upon us."

Barbossa folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "If they not be here already."

Squirrel glanced out of the window, down to the _Black Pearl_, and bit her lip. _You don't know how right you are, Hector_. There was no sign of any other ships in the harbour, but there was no ignoring the sudden chill Squirrel felt down her spine at the sight of the cold black sea. _I __was__ right, after all. Damn me_. She flicked an idle hand to one of the swords on the globe, setting it wobbling.

"Something wrong, luv?"

Squirrel looked to see Jack looking at her, as though she were the only thing to be worried about in the room. Squirrel gave a helpless shrug, and adjusted the way Jack's hat sat on her head.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, Captain. I just…" She sighed heavily, and gestured to the pointless but extensive brawl behind him. "We come from all corners of the globe, from each of the seven seas." She counted off on her fingers, "Corsair, brigand, freebooter, buccaneer, rover, _hai dao_, _wu kuo_, lanun, picaroon, filibuster, gentlemen of fortune…" She gave another wide shrug. "One way or another, we bear the name proudly." She ducked a flying bottle, and shook her head as it shattered against the wall behind her as though it aided her point. "But how can we call ourselves 'pirates' when we can't even stand together under that name when it matters the most?"

Elizabeth looked at Squirrel thoughtfully, and gave another small smile. "Well put," she murmured. Jack seconded the notion with a smile and a nod. Barbossa didn't even bother turning around, not even to give her a disdainful look. He climbed up onto the chair and then onto the table, picking up the ball-and-chain in one hand and the pistol from his belt with the other. There was the sharp retort of a gunshot, and all the fighting stopped, in some cases mid-punch.

"It was the first Court what imprisoned Calypso," Barbossa said, the strain he was feeling showing through the way his accent changed, "We should be the ones t' set 'er free! An' in her gratitude, she will see fit to grant us boons!"

"Whose boons?" Jack peered through Barbossa's legs through to the Brethren, then back up to Barbossa. "Your boons? Utterly deceptive twaddle-speak, says I."

"If ye 'ave a be'er alternative," Barbossa climbed down, and gestured with his pistol to match his sarcastic words, "Please. Share."

Jack paused, and Squirrel couldn't stop herself from grinning when she saw the look on his face. _He's going to be unpredictable again_, she thought.

"Cuttlefish."

Squirrel coughed to hide her giggle.

Jack smiled at the incredibly perplexed look on Barbossa's face. "Ey? Let us not, dear friends," he turned to address the Brethren, pushing through Armand's crewmen, "Forget our dear friends the cuttlefish. Flipper-gnorious little sausages. Pen them up together and they will devour each other without a second thought." He addressed one of Mistress Ching's men. "Human nature, innit?" He paused, dithering, and looked back to Armand's men. "Or… or, fish nature. So, yes," he pushed though Mistress Ching's men, hanging over her chair, massaging the woman's shoulders thoughtlessly, "We could hole up here, well-provisioned and well-armed, and half of us would be dead within the month." He suddenly seemed to notice the way Mistress Ching's men were reaching for their weapons, and pulled his hands back. "Which seems quite grim to me, whichever way you slice it."

Squirrel marvelled as Jack carelessly danced through it all. _Like oil on water_, she thought with a distant smile. _Nothing fazes him._ _He just takes it all in his stride_. She moved forward, standing next to Barbossa, better to watch her captain.

Jack started off again. "Or… ehh…" One of Jocard's crew - a giant of a man - stood in Jack's way, "A-a-as my…" Jack flapped a limp hand towards Barbossa as he edged past Jocard's crewmen, "Learnéd colleague…" Barbossa pulled a face - something between a sneer and a pout. "…So naïvely suggests, we can release Calypso, and we can pray she will be merciful." Jack leant down to address Vallenueva's dwarf. "I rather doubt it. Can we, in fact, pretend that she is anything other than a woman scorned like with fury hell hath no?" Jack gestured to the Brethren in general as he moved to the end of the table, taking his place like an actor on the stage, "We cannot." He paused a moment, wearing a piously innocent expression, and gestured to the opposite end of the table. "If you think otherwise, I call into account the three sterling examples in this very room."

All eyes turned to follow his gesture. Mistress Ching's lips curved very faintly. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Squirrel blushed and scowled in equal measure.

Jack spread his arms. "_Res ipso loquitur_," he stated, "_Tabula in naufragio_… we are left with but one option. I agree with…" He gestured again to the far side of the table and pulled a face, "And I cannot believe the words are coming out of me mouth…" He sighed. "Nnn… Captain Swann. We must fight."

Squirrel blinked at him a moment, then pressed her lips together hard to keep from grinning. _You brilliant bastard!_

Barbossa looked between Jack and Elizabeth before bellowing in outrage. "Ye've always run away from a fight!"

"Have not."

"Ye have so."

"Have not!" Jack repeated, indignantly injured.

"Ye have so," Barbossa repeated vehemently, "And ye know it!"

This time Jack was a picture of serenity. "Have not, slander and calumny. I have only ever embraced that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions." He smiled to the audience, even sparing a small part of that smile for Squirrel. "We must fight… to run away."

Gibbs, who had been formerly perplexed by Jack's words, now found adequate reason to follow his captain. "Aye!" His words lead the other Brethren to lift their voices in agreement. Even Squirrel gave a hearty cry.

"As per the Code," Barbossa folded his arms, the one figure in the whole room unhappy with the situation, "An act of war - and this be exactly that - can only be declared by the Pirate King."

Jack frowned and pointed accusingly. "You made that up," he said, almost sounding like he was whining.

"Did I now?"

_Oh no_, Squirrel thought, the smile gone from hr face, _What card is Hector playing now?_

"I call on Cap'n Teague, keeper of the Code."

If Squirrel had shouted '_The Pearl's on fire!_', or if someone had shot an inch of lead or twisted a cruel dagger into his stomach, Jack Sparrow could not have looked more like he did right then. His smile - his whole face, really - dropped like a stone. Squirrel couldn't fathom the reason.

"Captain _Teague_?" She gave a squeak, putting both hands to her mouth. "He's _here_?" She felt her face go red and her heart thunder. Gibbs and Pintel raised eyebrows at her.

Sri Sumbhajee nudged his aide, who immediately lifted his voice. "Sri Sumbhajee proclaims this all to be folly!" The aide accentuated the statement by slapping a palm on the table. "Hang the Code! Who cares a…"

A shot rang out, and the aide fell dead.

Eyes turned to a figure slouched against the doorway behind the table, where a figure was wreathed in pistol smoke. "The Code is the law," a deep gravelly voice, as weathered as the hull of a ship, somehow echoed so much louder through the room than the retort of the pistol had.

The Brethren Court slowly, meekly, sat down.

Captain Teague emerged from the shadows, and surveyed the room with ancient eyes, then swaggered down the stairs, slow and stately. The crosses and gems in his hair glittered, and his red coat seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Squirrel felt her eyes go huge, and an involuntary squeal escaped her. "_Captain Teague_!" Her voice was so high it was almost lost in the whisper. "Oh, that… that's… oh…" She started patting down her hair and smoothing out the creases in her clothes, feeling flustered and tiny. Barbossa looked down at her, raising an incredulous eyebrow, then turned back with a small scoff.

Teague stopped behind Jack, who had frozen where he stood. "You're in my way, boy," Teague growled. Jack scuttled sideways, his head down and his eyes low. Teague took his place at the head of the table, surveyed those seated briefly, then turned and gestured. From another doorway, two elderly men entered, carrying a gigantic book between them. Awed muttering and whispering began as it was brought forward and laid down on the table before Teague.

"The Code," Pintel breathed.

"As set down by Morgan and Bartholomew," Ragetti seconded.

Once the book was in place, Teague looked over his shoulder once more, and whistled. A dog with a ring of keys in its mouth emerged, and stood on its hind legs to deliver the keys. Squirrel took her eyes off of Teague for a moment to stare at the dog in surprise. _Isn't that dog… The same one we left on Pelegosta_?

Pintel and Ragetti also seemed to recognise the canine. "How did… That can't…"

Teague shrugged, and the rugged creases of his face shifted to something like a smile. "Sea turtles, mate." The dog barked twice in confirmation, then ducked down from the table. Teague fiddled with the keys and the book's impressive lock, and opened the tome to one of the centre pages. The legendary pirate leaned over the book, trailing a bejewelled finger down the page, mumbling as he sought the appropriate line. Jack inched closer, and peered over the man's shoulder.

"Ah," Teague lifted his head, "Barbossa is right." Barbossa made a small bow.

"Hang on a minute." Jack stepped forward to have a closer look in the book, mumbling over a passage. "It shall be the duties of the King…" The rest of the words were lost to Squirrel by incoherency and distance. Jack tapped something, and Squirrel caught him mouthing the word 'parley'. "Fancy that," Jack said, glancing towards Barbossa.

Chevalle had evidently heard all that Jack had said. "There's not been a King since the first Court," the Frenchman said, reclined back in his chair, "And that's not likely to change." Teague went and sat on the throne at the back of the room, picking up a guitar to cradle in his arms.

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked.

Gibbs stepped forward to supply the information for her, and for them all. "See, the Pirate King is elected by popular vote."

"That sounds familiar," Squirrel muttered, shooting a glance at Tai Huang, who pulled a wry face back at her.

Barbossa glared at Squirrel warningly before looking to Elizabeth. "And each pirate only ever votes for hisself."

As if he'd been waiting for it, Jack called out cheerfully from the other end of the table. "I call for a vote!" Barbossa threw up his hands and rolled his eyes.

Teague looked up from his guitar for a moment, caught Squirrel's eyes, and winked at her. She gave a peep and buried her blushing face behind her hands; luckily, her reaction was lost in the general muttering and discussion that followed in the wake of Jack Sparrow's words. Squirrel heard the sound of _Spanish Ladies_ faintly over the tumult of voices. She hummed along softly.

One by one, the Brethren Court rose to their feet to announce their captain of choice. "I vote for Armand, the Corsair!"

"_Capitaine_ Chevalle, the penniless Frenchman."

"Sri Sumbhajee," a second aide supplied with weary patience, "Votes for Sri Sumbhajee."

"Mistress Ching!"

"Gentleman Jocard."

Elizabeth shook her head, and directed her eyes towards the ceiling, as if wishing to find some other path around this insanity. There wasn't one. "Elizabeth Swann."

"Barbossa."

"Vallenueva!"

There was a significant pause and a very significant silence. All eyes locked on the last Pirate Lord. Even Teague paused in his playing to glance up.

There was merry mischief in Jack's eyes as he looked down the table and declared, "Elizabeth Swann."

"What?" The incredulous word exploded out of the woman's lips as general disagreement and uproar exploded around them all.

"I know," Jack said, shrugging nonchalantly, "Curious, isn't it?"

_Spanish Ladies_ started up again. Squirrel wasn't certain, but she could have sworn she saw Teague smile to himself as he looked back down to his guitar. She stepped back behind Barbossa, so the man in black couldn't see her expression, and grinned widely at Jack. _You've done it, you beautiful, brilliant bastard! Well done!_ Jack managed to glance her way and give a small smile before other things demanded his attention.

"You vote for me!" Jocard bellowed, one of the louder voices calling out similar instructions and threats in the room. Weapons were brandished, bribes were procured, all manner of things were said or shouted or hissed. Jack looked around, unflappable as always, calm in the midst of a storm.

"Am I to understand," he said, with childlike innocence, "That you lot will _not_ be keeping to the Code, then?"

A guitar string snapped, a jarring note, as harsh and as sudden as a gunshot. Two fierce fathomless eyes peered out from Teague's craggy face, scanning the room. The Brethren Court were silenced, and most of them sat meekly back down.

"Very well." Mistress Ching remained standing. She turned her blind eyes towards Elizabeth. "What say you, Captain Swann, King of the Brethren Court?"

Elizabeth smiled faintly, but there was steel in her expression. "Prepare every vessel that floats. At dawn… we're at war." The woman's eyes flickered down to the far end of the table, and her lips curved slightly; Jack gave a small nod and a smile in reply.

_What was it I said a while back?_ Squirrel thought faintly. _You can't spell conspiracy without 'piracy'. How right I was_. She smiled to herself a little.

Sri Sumbhajee rose to his feet. "And so," he squeaked, surprising Squirrel and most of the others with a voice like that of a young boy's, "We shall go to war!" The cheering of the Brethren Court filled the room, complete with weapons raised in defiance of Beckett and anticipation of bloodshed.

The man standing next to her, however, was scowling. As Squirrel shrank back into the shadows to let Armand's men pass, the smile vanished from her face as she watched the man in black. Barbossa had made a gesture, and Pintel and Ragetti were secreting away the bowl and the 'pieces of eight', taking it with them as they joined the exodus out of the room. _Conspiracy and piracy, I said_. She frowned, but didn't stop them, or Barbossa, from leaving. _And how right I am_.

The Brethren Court hurried from the room, grabbing their swords from the globe and taking their cheering crewmen with them back to their ships. Squirrel remained where she was, watching them all. She caught Elizabeth's eyes over the crowd, and managed to hold them for a moment. The young woman - the captain and Pirate King, now - gave her a pleading look and that same friendly smile before she was escorted out by Tai Huang and the rest of Sao Feng's men.

Squirrel let her go. She didn't know what she'd say to her anyway.

It didn't take long for the room to empty. Only Teague and Jack remained in the room, and neither of them seemed to notice that Squirrel was still there, listening.

"What?" Jack was saying. "You seen it all, done it all. You survived. That's the trick, innit?"

Teague shook his head sagely. "It's not just about livin' forever, Jackie." He put down his guitar and rose to his feet. "The trick is livin' with yourself… forever." His eyes flicked to the shadows where Squirrel was. Squirrel took that as an order for her to stop her hiding. Cheeks pinking, she obeyed, her feet silent over the planking.

Jack's voice dropped to a whisper, so much so that even Squirrel wasn't sure if she'd heard him speak or not. "'Ow's Mum?"

_Mum?_ Squirrel blinked between the two captains. It took barely a second to see the resemblance. It was there, true, but it wasn't until you really _looked_ that you saw what it was that tied them together…

Something nudged her leg, and Squirrel looked down. The dog looked back at her, tongue hanging out of its mouth and innocence in its careless brown eyes. She knelt down and scratched it behind its ears. "Hello, you," she murmured. The dog seemed to grin, and leapt up at her, trying to lick her face. Squirrel laughed and tried to hold it at bay. "Stop that," she tried to sound firm, but couldn't help laughing at the dog's friendly persistence, "No! Bad dog! Stop!" She laughed as it managed to catch her nose with its tongue.

"I can see why you keep this one, boy," Teague's voice growled, loud enough to include her. Squirrel lifted her head, and found both pirates watching her. Jack was tying a shrunken head to his belt. He looked between Squirrel and Captain Teague, a trifle awkwardly.

"We should get goin'," he said, taking a step back and gesturing to Squirrel. "King's orders, and such."

Teague grunted, fixing Jack with something like a knowing stare, then turned his eyes to Squirrel in a silent question.

Squirrel rose quickly to her feet and curtsied. "Captain Teague. I… it… It's an honour to… to m-meet you, s-sir. Captain." She curtsied again. "Miss Grey. Miss 'Squirrel' Grey, sir." She curtsied once more. Teague smiled a little to himself. Jack gave her a funny look. It may have been because she was red as an apple, or because she was bobbing up and down like a puppet on a string. "If… if I may be so bold,, Captain Teague…" Squirrel twined her fingers together, glancing between Jack and Captain Teague with all the respect she could muster in the face of this legend, "Of all the stories I've heard of you, sir, I've never heard the one about you being Jack's father."

Now Jack just looked startled.

She gave him a half smile. "You forget how sharp my ears are, Jack."

Teague gave a grunt which may have been a chuckle. "Not quite your type, lad, I would have thought," he looked with a raised eyebrow towards Jack. "A brunette?"

Jack shrugged, helplessly, the first time Squirrel could say she'd seen him flustered. "Well, I…"

Squirrel didn't know where the brashness came from, but at that moment she didn't care. "Jack'll go after anything with teats, Captain Teague. But he's still yet to see mine." She grinned at her captain. "Right, Jack?"

This time Jack just looked at her in shocked disbelief.

"Heh," Teague chuckled, then gestured to Jack with a gnarled, ring-bedecked hand. "Best get moving, boy."

"Right." He looked between Squirrel and Teague, clearly not knowing what to say. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm… I'm moving."

Squirrel was about to turn and follow after him, but Teague crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Many know the tales 'bout him," he said softly, almost in a whisper. "But few know the truth." His eyes - which were just like Jack's, only weathered and burdened by time and circumstances beyond his control - bore into Squirrel. "And sometime's the truth isn't what a person wants t' be."

She nodded, slowly. "I think I understand," Squirrel said faintly, glancing to through to the night. "He wants his own stories. He wants to be remembered for who _he_ is, not for whose son he was." She smiled a little. "Besides… 'Captain Jack Teague' doesn't quite have the same ring to it as the name he's made for himself."

Teague waited, head tilted slightly, a mannerism that was so familiar and yet so different.

Squirrel's face was solemn. "I won't tell a soul."

He nodded, slowly, like the motion of a ship's bow in the sea, and squeezed Squirrel's shoulder before he sat down and picked up his guitar again. Squirrel curtsied again, then hurried after Jack, pausing only to give the wayward dog one last scratch behind the ears. It barked a farewell.

Jack was waiting for her just beyond the doorway, staring through a hole in the ceiling at the stars, as though they were the only things worth his attention.

Squirrel took his hat off her head and handed it back to him. "A lot happened in that room tonight," she said gently.

Jack nodded absently, and accepted his hat back from her without taking his eyes off the stars. "Aye. For the first time in years, the Brethren have a King and a common goal."

"And isn't it funny how both of those things help you with your own agenda immensely, Captain?"

He looked down from the sky, and gave her a brief golden smile. "Yeah. Funny that." He started walking, and Squirrel kept an easy pace with him through the maze of hulls and spars and masts that was the building.

"You notice what happened to the pieces of eight?"

Jack looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "No, I didn't, actually. But I gather that was the point?"

Squirrel's mouth was a grim line. "He's canny, no doubt about that." She took her silver amulet between her fingers and tapped it thoughtfully on the stones of her necklace. "He's got all of them now, just about. I just don't know why, yet."

"You will," Jack said, just as grim. "You'll find out soon enough."

Squirrel looked at him, surprised. "You know why Hector's taken them?"

Jack started to nod, then gave her a withering look. "Just how many of my mortal enemies are you going to refer to by their first names?"

"How many do you have?" She quipped.

He snorted and shook his head, a smile placing about his lips.

As Squirrel walked beside Jack down to the docks, she wondered at the way she was feeling. Just as when she and Jack had steered the _Pearl_ together, her heart wasn't thundering, and the blood wasn't roaring in her ears. To be walking beside Jack now, even on this dark night, with no-one else around, felt no different than if she'd been walking beside Gibbs or Cotton or any of her other friends. Squirrel licked her lips slightly, trying to keep her mind from the implications of this feeling, though was unable to stop dwelling on it.

"I do have to say," Jack said, sounding injured, "That what you said to Captain Teague was very uncalled for."

Squirrel raised an eyebrow at him, then grinned. "Mre-eh-eh-eh," she said, in a fairly decent imitation of a goat.

Jack looked at her, lips curling back. "Not funny."

She laughed. "Not to you, it isn't."

The two of them emerged out into the open air, and stared down the docks to where the Black Pearl was moored. Men were scrambling across its decks and around its hull, but it bobbed serenely in the water, waiting for its captain to return. Jack stared down at his ship a good long time in silence. Squirrel stood beside him, wondering why they were waiting.

"I guess this is it, then, ey?"

She frowned a little at him. "What?"

He looked down at her, eyes thoughtful. "Well, luv, technically speaking, this is the next port. And the last port we've ever have the chance to make for a while, I think."

She shook her head slightly, not understanding. But then, when he looked back down to the _Pearl_, she remembered. "Jack, you cannot be serious."

He looked at her, concern in his eyes. "Deadly serious, luv. This is the last chance you'll get to be…" He gestured feebly.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not going to stay here, Jack. I'm coming with you."

Jack pulled a face at her. "Luv, think about it. We're about to go into the biggest bloody battle, probably the largest the world's ever seen. There's way too many risks out there, and that's just the ones you an' I knows about." He held both hands out to her, pleading a little. "I want you safe, luv."

She gave a breath of laughter, but couldn't help but be touched by his concern. "Jack… You said I could stay. _I'm_ the one who changes her mind." She smiled at him. "But I'm not going to use my woman's prerogative about this."

"Luv…"

"I'm not leaving you," Squirrel stated calmly. "I told you that, and I'm sticking to it. Besides," she added, "If you intend to live forever, you're going to need me around to make sure you do the right thing. Or to roll my eyes when you don't."

Jack looked at her a moment, expressionless, then looked back down to the _Pearl_ and gave a gold-toothed grin. "Suit yourself," he said nonchalantly.

Squirrel smirked and rolled her eyes, then looked up to the stars. After a moment, she realised she hadn't said everything yet. "Jack," she whispered, "When you said I could stay… When you said I could take care of the _Black Pearl_ for you… I think… I think there's something I need to ask."

"Ask away."

She took a breath, trying to find the words, trying to decide how best to say it. _Jack, the day you died, I knew I would be the cost for bringing you back. And you know that if you choose to live forever, I'm the cost for that decision. Either way, we can't be together. We can't have each other_. She took another breath, this one a little shakier than the first. "Jack… Would you… Would have let me stay if… even if I wasn't yours?"

He turned to face her, slowly. There was a long silence between them. Then Jack bowed his head, smiled, and looked at her fondly. "You weren't ever mine, luv. You never were. You always belonged to you."

Tears sprang unbidden to Squirrel's eyes. "Jack…"

"But yeah," he turned away, shrugging nonchalantly. "You can still stay. Wouldn't expect otherwise of you. And I certainly wouldn't take offence if you chose this, that, or otherwise."

"Oh, Captain Jack Sparrow…" Squirrel laughed, rolled her eyes, sighed all at once. "This is why I fell in love with you in the first place. You're absolutely _fascinating_."

Jack waggled his eyebrows at her, grinning impishly. "Ah, so you fell in love with the stories, did ye?"

Squirrel stared back at him, silenced by the surprise. _Was he listening to me and Sam_, she wondered, _Or are his words… coincidental?_

"Come on, darlin'," Jack gestured, "She'll be waiting for us." The two of them started to walk down the docks towards the ship. They were almost there when Jack glanced at her. "Don't blame you for wanting to stay. It's hard to forget someone you were once head-over-heels in love with."

Squirrel scoffed mockingly at the size of Jack's ego. "Oh, please. I was never head-over-heels in love with you, Jack."

"Oh, really?" He grinned. "I seem to remember you falling off a balcony once."

Squirrel's mouth worked the air a moment, before she indignantly retorted, "It wasn't a balcony, it was a roof, and I wasn't falling, I jumped." She stopped and winced. "Gah, that sounds suicidal."

Jack chuckled. "And the fact you were trying to take your cousin with you?"

Squirrel winced again. "Maybe I'm more suicidal than I thought."

He shrugged as they climbed up the gangplank. "Not arguin' that point, darlin'. After all, you'd rather stay." His eyes flickered sideways. He paused a moment, then stretched his arms and yawned exaggeratedly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get me beauty sleep before the big day."

"Goodnight, captain," Squirrel said, watching him leave, then turned around to see what it was that prompted Jack to scurry away.

* * *

1 Sao Feng is dead - direct translation from the DVD subtitles. (I love being able to read Chinese). 

**A/N**: Of course, Squirrel couldn't resist throwing back Jack's delirium-induced compliment back at him. Revenge is sweeeet. :D Uni starts back in about two weeks, in which case my update schedule should return to normal. I apologise for the long gap previously, and I hope I haven't made you all bored in waiting.


	25. Forgiveness

**Disclaimer**: I wish I was a pirate with seashells in my hair!

**A/N**: I don't know if I mentioned this before, in Deux, but the Kraken's tentacle beckoning to Squirrel is totally canon. Watch the scene where Davy is watching the _Pearl_ get pulled down to the sea, and you'll see what I mean. Right - another chappie. Enjoy!

* * *

Sam was leaning against the railing, staring out to sea, unmoving. Squirrel went softly to his side. "Are you alright, Sam?" 

He stirred a little at the sound of her voice. "…oh. Oh, aye. Aye, I'm fine." He turned to look at her.

Squirrel stared. He was so pale, so ashen white, as though he'd seen a ghost. "Sam… Sam, are you really alright?"

"I will be." He gave a strained smile. "Give me time." Squirrel wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him somehow, but even though they stood side-by-side, she felt as though the distance were far too great. Sam shook himself a little, steadying himself with a breath. "You were right, _a stór_," he said, reaching into his coat, "Miss Dalma there had a visitor."

_I was right. He __was__ here._ Squirrel's heartbeat went to double-time. "And?"

Grimly, the Irishman pulled out a sheaf of papers from his coat. "Every word," he said, and held the paper out to her.

"Well done," Squirrel murmured. Sam had, just as he'd said he would, taken shorthand notes in charcoal, and then rewritten them later in a more legible hand using ink. Squirrel traced her eyes along the words, reading with her breath caught in her throat. And, even as she was reading, she could hear the two voices rising and falling in a cadence of passion in her mind.

_My sweet… you come for me._

_You were expecting me._

_It has been torture, trapped in this single form. Cut off from the sea. From all that I love. From you._

_Ten years I devoted to the duty you charged me. Ten years I looked after those who died at sea. And finally, when we could be together again… you weren't there. Why weren't you there?_

_It's my nature. Would you love me, if I were anything but what I am?_

Squirrel read all that Sam had written, read all that he had heard below and transcribed to paper. She saw both of and through the words of Davy Jones and Calypso, and her stomach clenched at the strange familiarity of it.

_You have corrupted your purpose, and so your self. And you did hide away what should always have been __mine._

Everyone on this ship, one way or another, had their own agenda for coming this far, for doing what they chose to do. For the longest time, Squirrel had been unable to understand Tia Dalma's. She'd thought she'd understood, especially given what she'd learned last time she spoke to the woman. And yet now, this frightening knowledge brought to light a far more terrible truth.

…_And what of your fate, Davy Jones?_

_My heart will always belong to you._

Finally Squirrel tore her eyes from the page, and breathed as though she hadn't in a long time. Now she understood why Sam was so pale; she probably looked nigh the same herself now. She needed to stop, take a moment to think, to remember to breathe, to reorient herself with the world around her. What a contrast was the fresh sea air and the light of the torches to the dark charcoal smudges and ink stains of the paper she was holding; what a contrast was the night air to the darkness and voices behind those smudged words.

"What now?" Sam asked, his voice low as the crewmen bustled back and forth across the deck behind them.

Squirrel stared at the papers in her hands, trying to keep from shaking. "I don't know," she admitted, folding the paper in half and half again, and tucking them down the front of her vest. "But I think… I think I need to talk to Tia. Sort some things out." She set her jaw. "And alone."

"Alone?" Sam looked at her as though she were crazy.

She nodded, and smiled at Sam fondly. "There's no sense in getting you killed, Master Flynn."

"None in your death neither, Miss Grey." He paused a moment. "But there's no tellin' yeh that, is there? Yeh're set in yeh ways, you are." He ran a hand through his hair, and in a very quiet voice said, "She'll kill yeh."

Squirrel shook her head. "No. I'm too much like her for her to do that." She gave Sam a weak smile. "But even if she tries to, Sam, I'll have the iron bars of her cell to protect me." _That is_, Squirrel added silently to herself, _If she stays behind them_.

Sam shook his head wearily, sighed, and fiddled with his neck scarf. "So what happened at the Court, then?"

"The pirates have agreed to go to war," Squirrel said, looking across the water, at the multitude of ships that were being readied for the next day.

"Oh?" A light returned to Sam's face, and he didn't seem so ashen. "And who'll be leading us, then?"

Squirrel said nothing for a long moment, then whispered with her eyes closed. "Captain Elizabeth Swann."

Sam gave a low whistle. "She's captain now? Now there's somethin' diff'rent. I suppose I should go an' congratulate her… " He paused a moment. "_A stór_? What's wrong?"

"That's right," Squirrel murmured, "You don't know what happened." She lifted her head, and faced Sam, though every instinct was telling her to cringe, to hide her face in shame. "She was taken by Sao Feng, a prisoner, and…" She couldn't finish the sentence, but Sam's hazel eyes gave her too much strength to flinch or turn away. "He was supposed to meet us at Shipwreck Cove, but Elizabeth was there instead, telling us he'd been killed by Davy Jones. She… she was made captain in Sao Feng's place." Squirrel remembered something Beckett had said, about escaped prisoners. A faint question curled in her mind: _Did Norrington die freeing Elizabeth and the men of the _Empress_? Were those the prisoners Beckett was referring to?_ She closed her eyes for Norrington, forgiving him yet again.

"I see," Sam said, frowning a little. "So, it's not all been smooth sailin' since I've been gone, then?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No, not really." A thought came to her, and she clutched the rail in one hand. "And there's no need for you be here any longer, Séamus."

He looked at her, half frowning and half startled. "What d'yeh mean?"

Squirrel took a breath. "I want you safe, Sam," she whispered. "I want you off the _Pearl_ and waiting somewhere until all this is over." Her heart beat so loud in her ears she could barely hear herself, and she could feel her ears burning. "If we go to war, there's no guarantee that we'll both be alive at the end of it, and I… I couldn't stand the thought of… of… of losing you…"

Sam smiled slowly, and put his finger on her lips, silencing whatever else she might have fumbled to say. "No," he said, with a knowing grin. "I'm not leaving you."

She stared at him, flushed red from his touch and from his words, and her heart felt like it would burst from her chest. "Sam…" Then, something dawned on her, and she blinked. "Wait, what did you say?"

Sam smirked. "Voices tend to carry fairly well in the night, _a stór_."

Squirrel gaped and flushed. "How… how much did you…?"

"Enough t' know that if the great Captain Jack Sparrow couldn't convince yeh t' take a safe harbour, then you'll have the same luck with me." The merriment faded slightly from his smile, and he took both of Squirrel's hands. "But I do mean it, _a stór_. I'm not leavin'. No matter what happens, no matter the storms and squalls that may threaten, I'm stayin'." His grin widened, and his dimples showed again. "And after all… yeh did say I'd have a chance to be a hero one day, and by all the angels in God's Heaven, if tomorrow's not the day then I don't know when will be."

"… Sam…"

He smiled, and gently let her hands free. "Now… Seein' as we've come t' that understandin', I think I'd best go see t' the restockin' o' this fine vessel. What with me bein' the second quartermaster, and all. I'd best attend t' me duties."

Squirrel nodded, her hands feeling so much warmer than any other part of her. "Make sure we have enough gunpowder," she said, her voice faint and far away. Then, before Sam was even a few paces away, she smiled to herself and whispered, "Stupid paddy."

He turned back to smirk at her over his shoulder, then turned back. His eye chanced on someone down at the docks, and he laughed and waved. "Miss Elizabeth! Ahoy there!"

Squirrel's smile dropped like a stone.

Elizabeth was climbing up the gangplank, resplendent in her dark Chinese silks, her face both authoritative and feminine under the leather cap and tight Asian hairstyle. She greeted Sam warmly, expressing her surprise to see him again; Sam, in reply, was glad that she was well, and offered his congratulations.

Squirrel gathered up her courage and stepped forward, though every step felt like she was pulling a cart of stones behind with her. "Good evening, Captain Swann."

Elizabeth left off her conversation with Sam to look over. "And good evening to you, Miss Grey," she said, just as polite, though with far more of a smile.

Squirrel swallowed, then looked to Sam. "We need a few more cannon, Master Flynn, and all manner of shot."

Sam glanced between the two women, then nodded his understanding to Squirrel. "I'll see to it."

Elizabeth watched him go, then looked back to Squirrel.

Squirrel ducked her head slightly. "Miss Swann… Captain Swann, I should say… It's a… I haven't… I mean…"

"He didn't rape me," Elizabeth said faintly. "He didn't even get the chance."

"Oh… I… I'm glad to hear it." Squirrel breathed slowly, and she felt more relieved than her words would allow her to express.

She nodded, a little grimly. "He thought he was wooing Calypso. He stole a kiss, but that was all. And I made him bleed for his troubles." She gave a weak smile, one which Squirrel found she had the strength to mirror. After a moment of silence, Elizabeth came and stood at Squirrel's side by the railing, her eyes deep with thought. "Squirrel, I… I don't know if you could ever… If you could ever forgive me, but…"

"No!" The word burst from Squirrel, and she cringed back. "Don't! Don't say that!"

Elizabeth looked hurt, and a little angry. "So, you and Jack have _both_ decided I'm not worth forgiving?"

Squirrel hissed in anguish, and put her head in her hand. "If you only knew who you were apologising to, you wouldn't be asking for my forgiveness, Miss Swann."

The young woman blinked. "Wh… what do you mean?"

Squirrel gave a puff of a sigh, and looked up to the stars, seeking guidance. "Elizabeth… What I said to you, when we left Singapore… I was…" She sighed again, still struggling to find where to begin.

"You had every right to be angry at me," This time it was Elizabeth who couldn't look Squirrel in the eye. "You were right. I did kill Jack. I tried to take matters into my own hands. I may have done the right thing, at the time, but I suffered for it. We all did. And for that…"

"I need your forgiveness more than you need mine."

Elizabeth looked up, wide-eyed. Squirrel studied her for a moment, thinking how beautiful the golden-haired young woman was, before she looked down at the railing and fiddled with her amulet.

"Do you know why Sao Feng called you Calypso?" Squirrel's voice was faint. So faint.

Elizabeth tilted her head, mouth parting in a prelude to the answer.

Squirrel closed both eyes, and held the silver coin tighter. "He was looking for the woman of the sea, and he knew it was one of us. He thought it was me, at first. But then… when he found out about you, he changed his mind."

Elizabeth digested this for a moment. "How do you know this?"

There was a moment, an intake of breath, before Squirrel answered. "I met him. In Singapore. Three times." She opened her eyes and stared off into the distance. "The first time was an accident. The second was intentional, and the third time, I…" She licked her lips. "The third time, Will and I made a deal with him."

"_What_?" It was a breath of a word, horror and surprise and disbelief all in one.

"I told you," Squirrel said quickly, before Elizabeth could say anything else, could accuse Squirrel of the lies she had most assuredly told, "You have no apology to make to me. I'm the guilty one."

"You… you and Will…?" Elizabeth's eyes were filled with hurt and anger rather than tears. "Will told you everything, but he never said a word to me!"

"No," Squirrel shook her head. "You misunderstand. Will and I were… we had planned this from the beginning."

"The beginning?"

Squirrel looked to Elizabeth. "Since the day… we were all betrayed."

Elizabeth took a breath, her eyes wide. "You saw… You saw me and Jack…" Both her hands went to her mouth. "But you said… you said you blamed me for killing him. I didn't think you… you saw…"

Squirrel nodded, blank-faced. "I did, yes. Will and I both. It… it only seemed fitting, then, to…" She sighed, and let that useless, hurtful sentence die before it got too barbed. "It was his idea to bring back Jack from the Locker, if you'll recall. But it was mine for us to work towards a common goal. I promised Will I'd help him free his father, and…" She bit her lip, and silenced herself.

Elizabeth shook her head, trying to take it all in. "So, all that time… On the _Artemis_, and the _Diana_… and in Singapore… All that time, you and Will were…" Her voice trembled, and there was that sudden familiar heartache all over again mirrored in the woman's eyes. "You and Will were…"

"We were close, Elizabeth," Squirrel murmured, trying to lessen the blows she'd already delivered. Elizabeth gave a short hiccup of a sob. "But," Squirrel interrupted, gently, looking deep into the woman's eyes, "Not once did he ever betray you. Not once did we ever do wrong by you. And not once did I ever take your place."

Elizabeth said nothing for a very long moment. She was very still, barely even blinking.

"There were times when I wanted to," Squirrel let her amulet fall from her fingers. "Times when I could have. But his heart was always yours, Elizabeth." She sighed. "I envied that, that there could be a man so true that he'd keep loving someone, even after the… after the worst kind of betrayal. I envied _you_. But I never did… what I could have done." She looked down to her feet. "Even if I hated you, I still couldn't betray you." She shrugged to the stars. "I tried to save him, I suppose. But I couldn't. Because he loves you more than life itself. And he wants you to be happy, even if it means you're happy without him."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, in saddened understanding. "You both thought I was in love with Jack."

"Will thought that," Squirrel said dully. "I just… I don't know what I thought." She sighed. "But I made a promise to Will, and together we planned everything." Squirrel gave a twisted smile. "Well, almost. Will and I made a deal with Sao Feng to secure the charts, but…" She shook her head at the stupidity of it, with the clearness of hindsight, and gave a snort. "Will changed his mind. He changed the plan, and told me I was no longer part of it. I suppose he thought that a fair bargain means that everyone will keep to its terms." She shrugged again. "He forgets that very few people think like he does. And with me gone, there was no-one to watch his back."

Elizabeth tilted her head. "And that's when Sao Feng took the _Pearl_?"

"Yes. And…" Squirrel glanced sidelong at her, "You."

She nodded, thoughtfully. "I see. Yes, it… it makes sense now. Why you seemed so…" She tried to put it in words. "You were angry at me, when we left Singapore. But then you pled for my life, tried to stop Sao Feng, once we were out of the Locker."

"I had a change of heart. For more than one reason." Squirrel lifted her eyes. "And no woman deserves to suffer what Sao Feng intended for you, besides."

Elizabeth nodded, slowly, and stared out across the water. There was a silence that hung between the two women. Squirrel closed her eyes and breathed out, feeling a lightness in her chest, like a heavy burden had been lifted off of her. It was so easy to breathe, now; her shoulders weren't as hunched, either. But there was still one secret, curled inside her, like a dead thing. A secret that was the cause for a broken promise, and so much indecision and pain and heartache. But Squirrel didn't know how to speak it, how to clear it out from inside of her.

Elizabeth broke the silence with a soft, low voice. "I was aboard the _Dutchman_. I met Will's father. He can't be freed."

"Yes, he can," Squirrel breathed, voice even lower than Elizabeth's.

The woman shook her head. "No. It would be impossible." She bit her lip. "I even spoke to Bootstrap. He said that… He said that if Will chose to free his father, he could never be with me."

"I know." Squirrel felt the secret wriggling inside her, trying to dive and stay hidden.

"You know?"

Squirrel glanced to Elizabeth, then sighed. "Well, I know now. I know more now, more than I did when I first made my promise. Will told me: his father, if left too long on the _Dutchman_, will become…"

"… become part of the ship."

Squirrel nodded. "I didn't know that when I agreed to help Will. I just promised because…" She sighed, stopping all the feeble excuses. She straightened up, turned, and faced Elizabeth squarely. "I promised Will I would help him free his father. I just didn't tell him how." The secret writhed and coiled around in her gut, crushing her in its grip.

Elizabeth frowned slightly.

"I was going to stab the heart," Squirrel said. "I was going to be the next captain of the _Flying Dutchman_."

"What!" She took a step back, stunned. "You?"

Squirrel nodded, and was surprised to find that her hands were shaking, that her breath was uneven. Months and months of holding this secret close had taken its toll on her. "Yes. Me."

"Wh…" Elizabeth shook her head, horrified. "Why?"

"Anger." Squirrel clenched her fists. "Anger at you, and at Jack, and at Jones, and at myself." She took a breath, puffed it out. "And guilt - all those men who died in the Kraken's grip. Died because of me." She closed her eyes. "And pain. The pain and hollowness that came from…" Her throat closed up.

Elizabeth paused, then supplied gently, "Watching Jack die?"

Squirrel kept her eyes closed, but shook her head. "Watching him love someone else."

Elizabeth put both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, a touch of pink in her golden skin.

Turning her eyes back to the stars, Squirrel sighed. "I looked back as the _Pearl_ was sinking, and the Kraken was beckoning, calling me. And I answered, I suppose." She raked a hand through her hair. "Tia told us that Davy Jones cut out his heart to avoid the pain of heartbreak. And I wanted that. I wanted to forget Jack. I wanted to leave him behind. I wanted to cut out that part of my life and lock it away in a chest. I couldn't live with the pain, but I couldn't bring myself to end it, either. I figured… I figured if it worked for Jones, it would work for me."

"But Jones isn't even human anymore," Elizabeth whispered, horrified. "He's… he's a monster. And what he attempted didn't work! You don't forget someone just by cutting out your heart! If anything, he just made his memory of the woman more acute than ever!"

"I know that now," Squirrel sighed. "I didn't then. But I didn't care, either way."

Elizabeth looked at Squirrel, frowning slightly in thought, held her gaze a moment, then looked out over the water. "Will only came to save his father," she whispered. "And you only came for revenge."

Squirrel shook her head slightly. "Not revenge. Just…" She frowned, looking for the word. "Absolution." It was the best she could think of, by every definition, and yet it was far too kind for what she'd thought and planned and put into motion. The broken promise grazed her with a sharp edge, and she clenched her fists suddenly, wincing from the intangible pain. "And yet, even though I have come so far, made all these decisions and done all that I have… I can't do it. I can't!" She gave a shuddering sigh. "I wanted to stab the heart to forget, to take the pain away. But on the voyage… I…" She closed her eyes, bitter and grieving. "I came to learn what I know now."

"And that is?" Elizabeth's words were as soft as the black silks she wore.

Squirrel opened her eyes, and the world was blurred. "That I can't have a happy ending if my story never ends." She gave a weak laugh that sounded more like a sob. "That's the way the world works, isn't it? You can go against God's laws, but doing so always costs you. And at a price no-one can ever pay." She sighed, expelling the last of it all. "My life's been miserable enough as it is. I'd rather not risk whatever fleeting happiness I may have on an eternity of suffering." She gave a weak smile. "Some gambles aren't worth the risk."

Elizabeth didn't smile back. She just considered Squirrel with eyes that were so much older and wiser than the woman who owned them had been once.

Squirrel wondered if her own eyes were the same. She bowed her head and looked at the wood grain in the railing. "I haven't told anyone any of this. Not Jack, not Will, not Sam, not anyone."

The woman with the golden hair shook her head slightly, confused. "Then why tell me?"

"Because," Squirrel said gently, her hand catching the compass that swung from her belt, "I need your forgiveness." She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. "I… You made a difficult decision that day, and… Well, guilt is its own punishment. I just made it worse for you, only because I couldn't face my own demons. You had the courage to do what you _had_ to do… And I was too bitter to see that. And I'm… I'm sorry. For everything." She glanced up, waiting for the woman's response.

Elizabeth looked out across the water, silent and still. Then she turned back to face Squirrel, took two small paces back, and drew her sword. She levelled it at Squirrel's throat, and glowered along the length of steel.

"Kneel," Elizabeth ordered.

Squirrel bowed her head, and dropped to one knee. _It's no less than I deserve_, she thought, as she closed her eyes. _Though, I wish… I wish I could have said goodbye to Sam, first_. She rubbed her thumb over the compass, one last time, then let it drop.

The blade came to rest on her shoulder; Squirrel readied herself for the end. She waited, hearing Elizabeth's breath as well as the sound of her own heartbeat loud in her ears. _She's hesitating. I don't blame her. But it has to be done._ The sword lifted, went over her head, and tapped her on the other shoulder.

"Rise," Elizabeth said, voice low.

Squirrel stood up, giving Elizabeth a puzzled look.

Elizabeth's grin was wide. "I knight thee," she said, voice still low to suppress the merriment, "A knight of the Brethren Court."

Squirrel blinked, slowly, and then shook her head and chuckled. "Well, if that doesn't beat all…" She frowned slightly. "I thought only a king could knight… knights."

"Well," Elizabeth shrugged, gesturing with her sword, "I am a king. Remember?"

Squirrel rolled her eyes. "Technically, you should be a Queen, not a king."

"And you should be a Lady, not a knight."

"So I should be." She sighed, and she sobered.

Elizabeth sheathed her sword, and her smile faded a little. "What's the matter?"

"To say 'I'm sorry' is second nature to mankind," she murmured, rubbing her neck again. "But to forgive someone… it can be the hardest thing to say, when you mean it."

There was a second of silence that hung between then, then, both at the same time, the women looked to each other and murmured with sincerity, "I forgive you." They looked at each other, half-smiling, half-surprised, then grinned and burst into giggles together.

"So," Squirrel asked, wiping tears from her eyes, "Does this make us friends again, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth shrugged, a beautiful smile on her face. "Sisters."

_Sisters?_ Squirrel had to blink quickly, had to wipe at her still-stinging eyes, and she coughed to try to loosen the lump that was suddenly in her throat. She hadn't even expected forgiveness, and now Elizabeth was offering this? It was almost too much for Squirrel to comprehend. _Sisters._ She smiled at Elizabeth. "Thank you," she said softly.

Elizabeth smiled back. "You're welcome." She tilted her head. "So what now?"

Squirrel sighed, and leaned down on the railing. "I appreciate this," she murmured, "But I still have a lot of forgiveness to earn." She clenched her fists, and she sighed. "And I… I still have a broken promise to deal with."

"Broken promise?"

Squirrel nodded. "I promised Will I would help him. But I can't stab the heart. So I can't keep my word." She sighed again. "First time for everything, but I _would_ have liked to keep all the promises I made."

Elizabeth came and stood beside squirrel, arms folded, one finger pressed to her lips in thought. "You know," she said carefully, slowly, "When you promised Will you'd help him, you never actually told him how you would help him, did you?"

Squirrel shook her head.

Elizabeth smiled faintly. "Then, there you have it. You can keep your word." When Squirrel gave her a quizzical look, Elizabeth smiled a little wider, and explained. "You can help Will free his father by being part of the fight against Jones and Beckett."

Squirrel smirked as she looked out over the water. "Now, why didn't I ever think of that?" She mused in self-reproach. She looked back to Elizabeth. "Very well, your majesty. I shall."

Elizabeth quirked an eyebrow. "Call me Lizzie, please."

Squirrel shook her head, wearing a mock-imperious expression. "Oh no, your majesty, it wouldn't be proper. I must remember my station."

Elizabeth mock-scowled. "Shut up."

"Heh." Squirrel looked back across the water.

"Thankyou," Elizabeth said faintly, after a moment of silence, "For your trust. It must have been hard on you, keeping all that a secret for so long."

Squirrel took a deep breath, and felt the air fill all the space in her chest which had once been filled by the pain. "Aye, it was."

"However," Elizabeth said, holding up a hand, "I don't think you should tell anyone else, Miss Grey. After all, there's no point." She smiled a little. "It's not like anyone here would want to stop you from _not_ stabbing the heart of Davy Jones."

Squirrel chuckled. "Probably not." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elizabeth's smile fade, moment by moment, until the women was wearing a weary, saddened expression. As though she'd just reminded herself that she was about to lose something. _She's still thinking of Will_, Squirrel realised. _She still thinks he's the only one who can kill Jones_. Squirrel bit her tongue in thought. _How much do I say to comfort her? How much of Jack's intentions do I reveal? Should I even say anything at all?_ "Elizabeth?"

"Where is Will?" Elizabeth asked, as though she hadn't even heard Squirrel, her voice as distant as a wind over Arabian sands. "Where is he?"

Squirrel considered her options in silence but for a moment. "Not among us," she said, echoing Jack. Elizabeth shot her a look. Squirrel smiled a little wryly. "Listen, Elizabeth, before I answer you, I have to ask you something. I know you don't love Jack…" Elizabeth confirmed the statement with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow, "But would you trust him?"

"Trust him?" The young woman looked sceptical. She looked out over the water. "I don't know," she said, faintly. "I don't think I've ever been able to. He's a manipulative cad, and he's only ever thinking about himself." Squirrel waited while Elizabeth bit her lip in thought. "And yet… he came back for us, when the Kraken attacked. And…"

"And he made you King of the Court," Squirrel said softly.

Elizabeth frowned in thought, then looked to Squirrel, a light dawning in her guarded eyes. "Is Jack planning something?"

Squirrel shrugged expansively. "Most likely," she said, smiling as she remembered thinking she'd never lie for him again. "But then again, who on this ship isn't?" As she spoke, she caught sight of Barbossa, standing at the prow, his back to the two women; she saw Sam with a barrel on each shoulder, descending into the hold; she saw Gibbs and Marty muttering to each other on by the gangplank; she saw crewmen from each of the Pirate Lords coming to join the _Black Pearl_, to fill the ship's numbers. Squirrel studied as many of these faces as she could, before turning back to face Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was still thinking. "Perhaps I can, then," she murmured. "This time. Though, Miss Grey, there are certain matters in which I can _never_ trust him."

"I understand. I share the sentiment. Will is with Beckett."

Elizabeth turned wide eyes to Squirrel. "_What_!"

"Sorry about that." Squirrel folded her arms. "I'm sure he's fine, but I really can't give you any more than that." She paused while Elizabeth tried to gather her thoughts. "Now, I've a question that I need you to answer, Swann _Chuanzuang_. Do you love Will enough to trust him?"

This time Elizabeth showed no hesitation at all. "Yes. But I can't let him do what he's planning alone."

Squirrel smiled. "Have no fear of that, my dear sister Lizzie. He's not alone as long as your heart tells you that."

Elizabeth gave a small smile, grateful, but concern for Will was still evident in her eyes.

Squirrel smiled, then gave a small bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, your majesty, I have a few things I need to see to." The paper between her breasts had poked her in the ribs as she'd bowed.

"Wait," Elizabeth held out a hand before Squirrel could turn away. "You asked me to trust Jack…"

"I didn't ask you to do anything."

She pulled a face, then sobered. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Squirrel thought, saddened, for a moment, about Jack: at the helm of a ship no-one would ever catch, untouched by injury or sickness or time. Immortal. When he'd told her of his intentions, she'd been afraid that he'd read her, that he was trying to save her from herself. She gave a bit of a smile to think that she'd given him that kind of credit. He was only looking to save his own skin, as usual. But in doing so, he was going live on in the stories as something so much more than a rogue or a liar. And that was enough.

"With Jack," Squirrel murmured, "Who can say?" She gave a half-smile to Elizabeth. "But I think I can trust him to do what needs to be done."

Elizabeth considered this a moment. Her eyes were pained, a little, as though she didn't want to inflict something on Squirrel. "Do you love him enough to let him have his own way?"

Squirrel was surprised by the question, rather than pained. She paused, thinking, her fingers curling and uncurling by her side. _Love him? All this time, since the day he brought me aboard the _Pearl_, I loved him. But I wanted him to change, to fit the dreams of my own love. I loved him, even though he would never conform to that dream. And yet now…_ Then, it occurred to her, and the frown lines smoothed themselves out from her face. _Now, we understand each other better. I love him, but not as I used to._ She looked across the deck, where Sam was stretching sore muscles. He caught her watching him, and smiled back at her. Squirrel flushed, but smiled back. He winked, then resumed his stretching.

"Yes," Squirrel murmured, her eyes still locked on Sam. "I do."

* * *

**A/N**: _lessthansign numberthree_


	26. No Choice

**Disclaimer**: If you want to read my other fics, you should blame Miss Squirrel Grey for putting them all on hiatus.

**A/N**: Haven't done a choppy chapter in a while. Funfun! Lot of loose threads tied up here, some all the way from DMC and TWE. Enjoy.

* * *

She put a hand to her chest as she crossed the deck, and felt the folded paper press against her skin. As Squirrel lowered her hand, she felt it shake. She clenched it into a fist to try and calm herself.

_She'll kill you_, Sam's soft warning echoed through her mind.

_I know_, Squirrel thought grimly, _She may very well do that. But I can't just sit back and let Tia Dalma - or Calypso, or whoever she is - play us all for fools. I've spent too much of my life simply sitting back and watching. I can't do that any more. If I've the strength to lift a sword, then what good am I if I don't lift it in the defence of those I love?_

She'd almost reached the stairs when she paused, and looked over to the prow. Barbossa was still standing there, a dark pillar of shadow. Squirrel hesitated for but a moment, then left the stairs and went to stand at his side.

"Hector?"

He barely even glanced over his shoulder. "What d' _you_ want?" he scowled, icy eyes fixed on the night ahead.

Squirrel took the paper out from under her vest, and stepped even closer to him. "You need to read this."

Barbossa made no move, not even to push her away. He just stood, silent and still, glaring out into the night, sparing only the briefest glance out of the corner of his eye. "And why would that be, Miss Grey? Some numbers, I suppose, put down t' try t' prove me wrong about me course o' action? Some farewell letter, perhaps? Somethin' that will change me 'eart and make me a good man, and recant all me misdeeds?"

She bit her tongue to keep from reacting in irritation to the rising level of sarcasm in his tone. "Someone came aboard the _Black Pearl_ while we were gone, Hector. Sam kept record of their conversation. You need to read this."

"Conversation?" Curiosity got the better of Barbossa. His blue eyes - still hostile, still suspicious - turned Squirrel's way at last. "Between whom?"

"Between the King and Queen." Squirrel unfolded the paper, and held it out to him again.

"King and Queen?" Barbossa snatched the paper from her, but didn't so much as glance at it. "What are ye talkin' about?"

"The song," she said faintly. "The song tells that the Queen was stolen from her bed by 'the King and his men'." She held Barbossa's gaze steadily. "Not 'the men of the Court', but the King and his men." Everything was, after all, in the song. The whole story of everything that had transpired was all in that simple tune. The song that everyone knew.

Barbossa's frown slowly smoothed itself out, until his face was unreadable. But there was surprise and even a little bit of fear in his eyes now. "Impossible."

"_Some men have died_," Squirrel sang faintly, "_While some are alive, and others sail on the seas with the keys to the cage and the Devil to pay_…" She silenced herself, because Barbossa's eyes had turned to the page, and he was reading what was written there. "The first King of the first Brethren Court," she said plainly, "Captain Davy Jones."

Barbossa said nothing. His entire attention was on the paper between his hands. Squirrel waited with baited breath, unconsciously fingering her amulet with one hand and gripping the compass in the other. She watched as Barbossa's eyes darted over the words, back and forth across the page, watched them slow as he lingered over certain phrases, even heard him hiss in a breath at one point. Squirrel remembered what was written, and heard Jones' and Tia's voice echoing in her mind.

_And what fate have you planned for your captors?_

_The Brethren Court? All of them, the last thing they will learn in this life is how cruel I can be._

Finally Barbossa lifted his head, his eyes the only thing betraying how he felt. "So… the bastard Jones was aboard me ship, then?"

"He came to kill her," Squirrel said, gesturing to the paper, "Or, at the very least, taunt her. But she changed his mind." She saw Barbossa frown, saw him hesitate. "He didn't come because he loved her, or wanted to help her." Squirrel stepped beside him, and pointed to the phrase: _I do not love you_. "And yet here, for some reason, he changes his mind." She pointed to another: _My heart will always belong to you_. "She's playing us all for fools, Hector. She's even convinced Davy Jones to join her, to love her again, where he was her enemy before."

For a moment, it seemed as though Barbossa agreed with her. Then his face contorted into an arrogant mask, completely contrary to the man she'd come to know. "And why, pray tell, should that be a bother t' us, then?"

"Because you intend to free her," Squirrel said, her words harsher than she meant them to be.

Barbossa took the paper in both hands and tore it in half, then half again, then again and again. Squirrel watched, horrified and unable to do anything. Barbossa's hands moved quickly but carefully, the same kind of motions he used when he held a sword in his hand. With nonchalance, he threw the tiny scraps of paper overboard. They fluttered in the breeze, flipping and twisting like white leaves in the air as they fluttered down to be lost in the inky blackness of the sea. Squirrel followed them with her eyes; Barbossa watched them, too, until he was sure they were all gone. Then he looked at Squirrel, one hand on his pistol, daring her to speak.

She took a breath and shook her head, shocked by his display. "You seem to think, Hector," she said, trying to keep calm, "That I am against you."

"Tell me you're not," Barbossa said coolly, his eyes glittering.

"You haven't called me 'angel'," Squirrel murmured, "Which means you don't give a damn what it is I think."

For a moment, there was a flicker of remorse across his face. But he mastered it quickly. "Aye," he said, voice hard, "I don't." He leant forward to hiss his words into her face. "I intend t' free Calypso, and in so doin' p'raps earn meself goodwill enough t' see this war end with favourable results… for our side."

"What goodwill?" Squirrel asked. "As I heard it, the bargain 'tween you and Calypso ends with her freedom." Squirrel paused as a crewman passed by, close enough to hear, and waited until he was out of earshot before continuing, though she kept her voice low. "She brought you back from the dead, and in return you'll free her. She owes you nothing, Hector. And she's going to kill us all once she's free."

"She might not," Barbossa shrugged again, his hand still on his pistol, but Squirrel read some unease in the motion.

"She will." Squirrel folded her arms. "Just because _you_ made a deal with her doesn't mean she's going to remember you kept it. And she's not going to think any higher of you because of what you do."

He sneered. "So ye say."

"You're going all the wrong way about this."

It was a plea that he ignored. "A shame I never consulted you _first_ then, Miss Grey."

Exasperated, Squirrel let the words burst from her. "She's not you, Hector! She's…" Squirrel sighed, and closed her eyes a bare moment. "She's a woman." She glanced up. "And we seldom remember kindness when we feel we've been wronged."

This time a smirk twisted his lips. "Speakin' from experience, are we, Miss Grey?"

"Yes." Her gaze was steady, and she refused to be mocked. "Because I hope to make you see reason."

"Reason?" Squirrel leapt back out of the range of Barbossa's temper. "Ye think t' speak t' me about _reason_?" His eyes burned with blue fire. "I was _dead_," he spat, "Dead and damned and the rest gone whist, as th' old song says. Ye think that a man - any man with blood in his veins and a beatin' heart - would not leap at the chance t' live again once his life was over? Any chance? At any cost?" He turned away from her, still smouldering. "There is no 'reason' when it comes to desperation. Ye do what ye must."

Squirrel refused to be dismissed, but she didn't want to be drawn into a fight, either. "And what of the price?" He grunted, but said nothing. She licked her lips, then reached out and placed one hand on his arm. "Hector," she said, pleading, "Please." He did not shake her off, but he didn't look down at her, either. Squirrel took what she could get. "I want to help you."

He didn't move for a moment, then glanced down at her. The anger in his eyes was softening. "Help me?" He gave a humourless chuckle. "Nay, angel, ye can't do that. It's far too late." He held up his hand - the same hand Tia had momentarily reduced to bone and withered skin - and stretched it before him. Squirrel saw the pain and the unease in his face.

"It wasn't death, was it?" She kept her hand on his arm, as though physical contact with the man was what was helping him to understand her, and visa versa. "You said that death gave you a new perspective. But it wasn't death."

He looked down at her, uncomprehending, not remembering his own words from their first meeting, then nodded a little. "Aye," he flexed his hand again, rubbing it between his other hand as though he were cold. "Not death. Just what came after." He looked out to the horizon, eyes pained and miserable. "Once t' die was enough. Once was… too much. I saw what I was, what I'd been, and… And I… I…" He closed his eyes, unable to continue, and sighed heavily.

She thought of choices, and villains, and stories and legacies and memories; she thought of Hell, and knew why he suffered. "You said you wanted a second chance."

"Aye." His eyelids snapped open, and there was none of that misery or pain in his expression now. "And, thanks t' Calypso, I have it."

"No," Squirrel stepped in front of him, taking his hand - the one Calypso had momentarily let fall back into the embrace of death - and pressing it between her own two pale hands. "She didn't give you that chance. It's here. Now."

Barbossa looked at her, a strange curiousness in his eyes.

"Hector," she whispered, trying to convey the urgency of it, "_This_ is your second chance. This is your moment to…"

"To what?" He wrenched his hand away from her, his eyes as hard as steel, and sneered at her. "To face death like a man? T' become a hero? No, wait, I have it: t' redeem meself before the legions of the Brethren, and so earn forgiveness in every mother-lovin' heart that beats the world over? Is that what ye're thinkin', Miss Grey?"

"I don't want you to die!"

Barbossa stopped, and stared with surprise at the tears rolling down her face. Squirrel turned her face away from him, slightly, surprised at herself that Barbossa's mocking could drive her to tears as much as her concern for him could.

After a moment of awkwardness, Barbossa took her into his arms and patted her head like she was a child. "Easy, angel. I thought ye didn't weep for the dead."

She let herself cry into Barbossa's vest a moment, then lifted her head. "I don't want you to die," she repeated, wiping at her face.

He gave a rueful smile. "And that, methinks, will be my most lasting monument." He sobered. "But mark me, angel, I've no intention of dyin' anytime soon."

"She's going to have her revenge on the Court," Squirrel said, voice wavering. "And you're part of the Court." She pushed herself slightly away from him, so she could look into his eyes. So she could convey what she needed to. "I seem to recall you speaking to Jack about looking beyond one's own interests. Why can't you do the same?"

Barbossa considered her words for a moment. "I'd be lyin' if I said I weren't fond of ye, angel," he said, gently releasing her. "But there's nothin' ye can say or do t' make me change my mind."

"Hector…"

"No." He shook his head, silencing her. "As much as ye think ye can convince me by appealin' to me honour, ye can't." A look of pain for a moment, before his face went unreadable again. "At any other time, about any other thing, aye. But about this? No." He held up his hand again, and stared at it, seeing beyond the flesh and the bone. "If I free her? She kills me. If I don't free her? She kills me." He clenched his hand into a fist. "I've no choice at all."

_Caught between the Devil_, Squirrel thought sadly, _And the deep blue sea_.

Barbossa lowered his hand, and his eyes bore into Squirrel's. Pleading, seeking some kind of refuge or hope. "Can ye offer me any alternative, angel?"

Slowly, Squirrel shook her head. "No," she whispered, wishing there was something she could do but knowing that there was not.

He nodded grimly, and his voice regained its harsh edge. "Then I'll take me chances with the sea."

She left him to his thoughts and to his plans, saying nothing as she departed, and not looking back once. _Then you leave me no choice either_, Squirrel thought, as she went belowdecks.

* * *

"You're very clever."

Tia lifted her head and peered through the bars. "Am I, Miss Greeh?"

"Yes," Squirrel said, leaning against the pillar opposite the cell. "You knew exactly what to say to me."

The dark-skinned woman raised an eyebrow, perplexed. "I do not understand what it is you are tryin' t' sey."

"You know exactly what I'm saying." She pulled her dagger from her sheath and balanced it across her knuckles. "And you know exactly what I mean, too."

Tia tensed slightly at the sight of the blade, but there was no fear in her eyes. "Are you go'n kill me, Miss Greeh?" She smirked. "Did you forget so soon what it is dat I tol' you before?"

"You could be lying," Squirrel said, brushing her finger through the red tassel of the Chinese knot hanging from the dagger's handle. "I could kill you, and nothing would happen. It is possible that the only reason you told me you could possess me like some malevolent ghost was to frighten me. That you told me this to prevent me from harming you." Squirrel flipped her dagger into the air and caught it with the same hand. "After all, you do know exactly what to say to me to make me do what you want." She smiled faintly and tapped her cheek with the tip of the dagger. "Same with everyone else aboard, I suppose. Like… Hector Barbossa, for instance."

Tia stood at the bars, arms folded. "What of heem?"

Squirrel snorted. "The Council voted against freeing you. I don't blame them." She deftly spun her dagger. "But Barbossa's a man of his word. He intends to honour the promise he made with you, even though the consequences are so very dire." She closed one eye. "Aren't you lucky."

"Yees," Tia agreed suspiciously.

"Yes," Squirrel echoed, "You knew just how to play that man. You knew exactly what to offer him to make him one of your puppets. To give him no choice." Squirrel glanced over, staring dully through her one open eye to the woman in the cage. "Just like you did to me. All those riddles and pieces of cryptic advice and threats you gave me. Made me dance to your tune." Squirrel tapped her dagger against the jade ornament hanging from her ear, and smiled at the musical _ping_ that it made. "Like I said. You're clever."

"I don' t'ink you came down 'ere jus' to complimen' me, Miss Greeh," Tia said, giving a smug half-sneer.

"No, I didn't." Squirrel balanced her dagger across her knuckles again. "I just came to tell you I'm sick of your games." She snatched her dagger out of the air again. "Of all the things you've told me, there's only one thing that I can be certain isn't a lie."

"And dat is?"

Squirrel smiled placidly, but there was a threat to her smile. "That Will Turner has a destiny that doesn't involve me."

Tia Dalma's smile faded away to nothing, and her face was unreadable between those metal bars.

Squirrel sheathed her dagger. "You were right about that. William's destiny doesn't involve me at all. I'm not the one who will share his future." Squirrel's voice dropped to a whisper. "It's Elizabeth."

Tia's dark eyes considered Squirrel warily, but the woman herself said nothing.

Squirrel closed her eyes a moment, and listened to the sound of the ship. There were footsteps and voices above them, as men filled the hold with supplies, rigged up cannons, prepared for the battle ahead. The ship creaked, rocking gently in the water. It was so peaceful, even with all the activity above her head. And yet…

"I like stories, Calypso." She opened her eyes and looked towards the cell. "And so do you, it seems. You've told a different version of the same story time and time again. It's almost as though you're trying to rewrite something that happened long ago."

Tia laughed throatily. "Is dat what you t'ink?"

She stared darkly back. "It's what I know. You and Davy Jones…" She shrugged, open-handed. "I know you like to control people, Tia. He may have loved you, but a relationship can't last if it's only one-sided."

Tia gave a shriek. The noise was so sudden and unexpected that Squirrel jumped, nearly tripping backwards over her own feet. "You know _not'in'_!" Tia snarled through the bars. "I lov' Davy Jones!" From her accent it was hard to tell if she was saying that she 'love' or 'loved' Jones. It could have been both. Or neither.

"Did you?"

Squirrel's taunt had the desired effect. Tia scoffed, teeth bared, even as her eyes filled with tears. "Yes! More dan anyt'in' in dis world! I lov' him!" She stared off into the distance, eyes filled with pain. "I lov' 'im. Wit' all dat ai yam, I lov' 'im. Wit' deh wind and deh waves and deh tide… I lov' 'im."

Squirrel folded her arms. "And yet, the one night he could be in your arms, you weren't there."

Tia's eyes went savage, and they burned with hate. "How d'jew know dis?"

Squirrel kept her face blank, even as her heart thundered in concern for Sam. "You told me," she said, and it wasn't a total lie.

Tia laughed bitterly. "Oh, _oui_, you be a clever one yourself, Miss Greeh. You listen to all deh stories, you listen to all deh songs, and you t'ink you know everyt'in'!" She snarled again, wiping ferociously at her eyes as she did so. "But you do _not_!"

"So," Squirrel said, "What you told us when you first met us was true? That all the blame for Davy's condition lies with him?"

Tia quietened slightly, and unwrapped her fingers from around the bars. "No," she murmured, fingering the music box around her neck. "I… I wanted…" She sighed, her mood turning like the tide. "I lov' him," she murmured, heartbroken and honest for a time, "But he… He just a man. He, like all men, would die somedey. He would leave me, go where I could not follow. An' dough he say he lov' me…" She took a shuddering breath and gripped the heart-shaped piece of gold. "He would one day be gone from me, never to return." She looked to Squirrel, pleading to be understood. "I did not want 'im to suffer as a mortal."

Squirrel felt little sympathy for the woman. Very little. "So you made him suffer as an immortal instead."

"Suffer?" Tia shook her head violently, begging to be understood. "No! He would not suffer! He would be deh captain of deh _Dutchman_, forever. Never eegin', never sickly, never hurt; 'e would never die!" Her face softened, and her eyes went distant again. "An' we could be toget'er… always."

"But in order to do that," Squirrel said pragmatically, "You had to betray him."

Tia turned savage eyes Squirrel's way. "I did not betray him! He betray me!"

She shook her head. "You weren't there when he came for you, Tia. That's betrayal enough." She ran her fingers through her hair, and noted absently it was longer than she thought it was. "Davy Jones did the duty you charged him with for ten years, and then came to where he expected to find you. So he could be with you, the woman he loved with every fibre of his being." Squirrel shrugged. "But the woman wasn't there. Ten years of service in your name, and you weren't even there for him when it was all over."

Tia opened her mouth to object violently, but Squirrel pointed at her, silencing her.

"You wanted him to live forever, so you could love him forever. But the one day he could love you as a man, and not as a servant…" She let the sentence trail off, and shrugged. "Small wonder he felt betrayed. Betrayed enough to pay you in kind. So he cut out his heart, and locked both you and his love away. You couldn't bear to free him from his duty, and so he repaid you in kind." She shrugged again. "I once said that I pitied Davy Jones, for him being trapped in a tragedy of his own making. Yet that's not the case, is it? Because he didn't trap himself. He had help. He had you." She paused a moment, and looked pityingly at the prisoner. "You ruined your own happy ending, Calypso. You brought this misery on yourself."

Tia hissed and snarled in a foreign tongue through the bar, pointing and glaring with hate-filled eyes. Squirrel took a small step back, but refused to let the woman rattle her. Or, at the very least, refused to let Tia see how frightened Squirrel was.

"Are you cursing me because I'm a liar?" She lifted her voice over Tia's venomous words, "Or because I've gotten to the heart of the matter so quickly?"

"You know NOT'IN'!" Tia snarled again. "You t'ink to know deh dep's of a woman's 'eart when you 'ave not even known what it is to love a man mind, body and soul!"

Tia may have meant to insult her, but Squirrel didn't even blink. 'Virgin' was not a slight or a badge of dishonour to her. "I know enough about love," she said softly. "Love is patient. Love is kind. It is never jealous, boastful, proud, or rude. It isn't selfish, or quick-tempered. It keeps no record of wrongs. It loves the truth, and bolsters the lives of those who share it. It is loyal, hopeful, trusting… And it doesn't die." She paused a moment. "That's what love is."

The dark-skinned sibyl gave a bitter cackle of laughter. "Oh, so young. So naïve."

Squirrel closed one eye. "Either that, or you're so bitter and twisted you've lost sight of what it really means to love someone."

Tia's ocean-like mood changed once more. "Bitter is what I 'ave become," she said with soft broken voice. "But still I lov' Davy Jones. Yet he make me suffer for deh love I 'ave for 'im."

"No," Squirrel said, coming closer to the bars, "You're both suffering, because neither of you loved each other as you should have. What you and Davy Jones had wasn't love. It was a power struggle. You tried to control him, and he you. And you were both too proud to admit defeat, or even to try to see this." Tia shot Squirrel a dark look, but it didn't daunt her. "So you make those around you suffer as you did, in a pathetic attempt to validate yourselves and the choices you made."

"Be careful, gherl," the woman's voice was dangerous now. "Some t'ings are beyond you."

"What's so hard to understand? You wanted to be happy. Who doesn't want that?" Squirrel considered Tia in silence a moment. "But then you, in your typical controlling fashion, tried to change things, tried to fix them so they would never break. And so you lost what happiness you might have had." For a moment, Squirrel wondered if she should be talking to a mirror, given her choice of words.

Tia glared a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. "Ah, such deh stories you tell, Miss Greeh…"

"And the ones _you_ tell, Calypso," Squirrel replied, keeping her hands very still despite the temptation to grab hold of her amulet or her compass. "Like the one of William Turner." Tia raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Yes," Squirrel continued, "That's right. I still haven't forgotten the thread of this conversation. William Turner's destiny."

Tia looked lazily from under her eyelids, "And what does Mister Tur-nah's destiny 'ave to do with me?"

"As I said, you're trying to tell a different version of the same story. You're trying to prove that your story can have a happy ending." Squirrel clenched both hands into fists. "So you're meddling with Will's life, and Elizabeth's." Squirrel gripped the bars and glowered through. "You stay away from them. Both of them."

Tia didn't look very surprised. "Mister Tur-nah's destiny is none of your concern."

"Yes it bloody is." Squirrel glared. "He's my friend, and so is Elizabeth! I'd rather die than let you destroy their future and happiness."

"Really?" Tia smiled darkly, as if to say, _It can be arranged_.

Squirrel backed away from the bars slightly. "He's not Jones," she said flatly. "And Elizabeth isn't you. You can't save your own past by ruining their future. Meddling with them isn't going to help you one bit. Your story's over, Tia. Your song has been song. You can't foist your mistakes on someone else." She pointed accusingly at Tia, making her point. "You will stay away from William and Elizabeth."

The woman smirked and sneered once again. "What you t'ink you can do, Miss Greeh? You can't stop deh sea."

"No," Squirrel admitted, "I can't. But I can help my friends. And I can trust in Will and Elizabeth both." Squirrel smiled faintly. "They love each other, more than their own lives. And true love can conquer anything." She pulled a wry face in Tia's direction. "Even the tide."

Tia scoffed through her teeth.

"Now that we've got that sorted, there's just one more thing that I have left to say to you," Squirrel said. "And that is that I won't be a pawn in your games any more. I'm done with being a part of your machinations."

"Is dat so?"

Squirrel reached up and tapped the stones of her necklace. "You led me to do so much I would not have done without your prompting. You made me come between Will and Elizabeth, among other things. And all the while, I believed I was free. Free to go in any direction of the compass. Really, though, I was walking the very path you meant for me." She reached back for the necklace's clasp.

Tia's eyes were hard and fierce as a cat's or a sea-eagle's. "Do not dare…"

"Dare what?" Squirrel asked, but dropped one hand.

"To return a gift is a great insult." Her voice was silky and dangerous.

"And yet, in the giving of the gift you showed an even greater one. This," Squirrel tapped her necklace again, "Was little more than a slave collar. Am I right, Tia Dalma?"

"An' I t'ought you said you were no-one's judge, Miss Greeh," she sneered.

Squirrel smiled, unfazed. "You gave me this necklace, Tia, and told me that I have four paths before me. Four possible ways my life could end… and one point on which I stand. Well, Tia Dalma, this is where I stand. I will not be subject to your machinations, to your whims or fancies or whatever else it is that you call them." She put her face to the bars. "This ends here. I'll not go another step for you. I'm free." She leant back, and turned to go.

"So you say, gherl!" Tia called, gesturing through the bars. "But know dis: you can never escape your own destiny, no matter how free you t'ink you are!"

Squirrel paused, and looked back. "We'll see," she said faintly.

Tia laughed. "Oh, yes. You will see."

She sighed, and turned back to the stairs. She took only two steps before she looked back once more.

"I'm curious," Squirrel said. "When you say it was my fate to die at sea, did you mean at Davy Jones' hand?" She tilted her head. "Or at yours?"

Tia's eyes glittered, and she said nothing. Squirrel climbed the stairs, to find fresher air and the welcoming glow of candlelight. But though she hid it well, she couldn't stop from shaking.

* * *

"_A stór_, we're all set for the night. The _Pearl_'s as ready as she'll ever be. I'm about t' get some shut-eye. Maybe you'd best do the same."

Squirrel turned towards the familiar voice, and was glad to see Sam coming towards her in the dark. "What colour are my eyes?"

He tilted his head, his expression indistinct in the shadows. "They'd be the same as they were, I'd imagine. Brown, as I recall."

"Sam! Please. What colour are they?"

The urgency and fear in her voice moved the Irishman to action. He turned and picked one of the lanterns that hung from the support beam, and aimed the light in Squirrel's direction. She flinched and squinted slightly in the glare, but waited until Sam had time to study her.

"The same beautiful brown they were the day I met yeh," Sam said softly. "Why?"

Squirrel passed a hand over her face and sighed. "Nothing," she said faintly. "Just a bad dream." The eight-sided Chinese mirror from Tia's hut was burned in Squirrel's memory, as was its frightening reflection.

He glanced down the stairs, and nodded. "Didn't go s' well, did it?"

"It went just like I thought it would," Squirrel said, rubbing her fingers along the smooth stones of her necklace, and wondering why she hadn't ripped it off and thrown it through the cell bars like she'd intended to. "Nothing more to be done about it."

Sam's face was grim as he hung the lantern back on its nail. "Then you'd best get some rest. Come sunrise, we're going to need all hands ready and able t' face the worst."

Squirrel nodded, rubbing her hands together as though they were cold. "If you're up before me, wake me an hour before dawn. And don't let me sleep in, no matter how gorgeous I look while dreaming."

He managed to smile a bit at that, but his eyes were serious. "Yeh have m' word, _a stór_."

She felt his eyes on her back as she weaved her way through the hammocks and already-sleeping men to her bunk, and took the knowledge he was watching over her to her dreams.


	27. A Certain Course

**Disclaimer**: _The King and the Queen both lie in their bed/ Now that the battle is done_…

**A/N**: I'm sorry I'm late. My interwebs were stolen, and I'm not likely to get them back for another month. I'll do my best to keep regular updates, I suppose, but until technology returns to me, updates may be halted somewhat.

* * *

Squirrel rubbed her bare arms and shivered in the shadows of the dawn. Beside her, leaning on the railing and looking out into the fog, Sam pulled a wry face at the weather.

"Been sunup fer a while now," he commented. "Still nothin' but fog out there."

"Pirates tend to have a flair for the dramatic, Sam," Squirrel said. "It doesn't make for a good story to say 'we'll attack as soon as we can see the other guys'. Saying 'we attack at dawn' is far more memorable."

"Aye. And a good deal more poetic, also."

"Mmm."

The sky was a pale, pale grey; the light was still feeble, despite the sun peeking warily over the horizon. Fog billowed all about the ships that were moored in the open sea, waiting, watching. The air was cool, a vestige of the evening that passed by only an hour ago. Squirrel rubbed her arms again, shivering slightly. She'd dressed lighter, wanting nothing to hinder her or tie her down. She'd left her cloak, her blue sash and her shirt in her sea-chest, along with the various pouches that had hung from her belt, as well as the compass Sam had given her. Only her earrings and necklaces remained as adornments; she was dressed plainly. She wore her sailor's vest and breeches, along with lengths of blue cloth wrapped around her wrists. Her sword and dagger hung from her belt, and the red leather sash that crossed her chest was bristling with throwing knives. She'd locked her shanghai away; in this battle, there was no room, time, or risk for her to use non-fatal weaponry. She was dressed for war.

That thought made her more nervous than the thought of Beckett's ships somewhere out there in the fog.

Those aboard the _Pearl_ were silent and waiting. The deck was lined with men, all armed and ready. They moved listlessly in the post-dawn glow, glaring at the fog and the distance both. Some men were playing cards, others were rattling handfuls of dice, others readied their weapons, others did nothing. Very few of them spoke at all. In a line stretching off to the left and to the right, the ships of the Brethren waited, their decks likewise filled with men who were just as the men on the _Pearl_.

Squirrel saw Gibbs, Cotton, Marty, Pintel and Ragetti - now with an eyepatch to cover where his wooden eye had once been - all standing together, speaking softly. Squirrel gently pushed away from the railing, and started to move in their direction. After a few steps, however, she stopped and looked back.

"Aren't you going to ask me where I'm going?"

Sam glanced briefly over his shoulder, but didn't otherwise move. "I trust yeh," he said faintly. "And it's not like you'll be jumpin' ship." He smiled so that she knew he was jesting.

Squirrel smiled back, then treaded softly over the deck, weaving her way through the men until she reached the crew. "Mister Gibbs?"

He jumped slightly as she approached, almost like a guilty man. "Startled me, lass," he said gruffly, eyes sliding off her.

She smiled, then hugged him.

Gibbs stiffened, surprised, then frowned at her in confusion and slight embarrassment. "I… What is… Miss Grey, what are you doin'?"

Squirrel smiled at him as she released him. "I just wanted to thank you, Gibbs. For everything you've done for me." She smiled around the circle. "To all of you: Cotton, Marty, Pintel, Ragetti…" She hugged each of them in turn, with each one responding as similarly awkward as Gibbs had. She didn't mind. "There aren't enough words to tell you how grateful I am." Squirrel looked down at the toes of her shoes, bashful. "I couldn't have asked for better friends… or family." She smiled radiantly.

The men all exchanged glances and raised eyebrows, except for Ragetti. He just stared at Squirrel, rocking back and forth on his toes, a strange-wide-eyed expression on his face, fiddling with the belt across his chest.

"I doubt I'll ever find truer friends," Squirrel smiled at Gibbs, who once again couldn't look her in the eye. "You've all helped me in so many ways, been a listening ear for my troubles, tolerated my presence aboard…" She chuckled at that. A woman being aboard was supposed to be bad luck, but after helping win him a significant pool of funds from the crew on her first day, Gibbs was Squirrel's most vocal supporter. "I owe you all so much. I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

Ragetti suddenly darted forward and kissed Squirrel on the cheek. The impulsive gesture seemed to startle him as much as it did everyone else. He retreated back to his place and hunched further into himself. Squirrel looked at him, surprised.

"Y-y-you…" Ragetti's voice was tiny. "You… you always b'n nice t' me…" He glanced up through his fringe, then down and away, flushing red. "Taught me t' read…"

Squirrel smiled at him, fondly. "You're a sweetheart," she said, trying to let him down gently. He was a little too late, and she'd never seen him the way he'd seen her. But she still was fond of him, regardless. Ragetti bobbed his head as he stared down at his boots. Pintel looked at him as though he were the most brilliant man he'd ever known.

Gibbs' face was concerned, though, and he looked at Squirrel with furrowed brow. "Lass, are you only sayin' this because you think we're t' die?"

Squirrel shook her head vehemently. "Of course not!" She laughed, even though her gut clenched tight.

"Lawks," Cotton's parrot muttered, crouched low on its owner's shoulder, "Cat o' nine tails."

Gibbs didn't look convinced. "You know how t' read games," he said, voice low, his eyes flickering between her and someone standing at the portside ratlines. "You know how this'll all end. Don't you?"

For a moment, Squirrel said nothing. They were all looking at her, expectantly, wanting to hear… what? 'Yes, we're definitely going to win'? 'None of you fellows will be killed'? What? What did they want her to say? After a moment, she sighed and shook her head with a wry smile. "I don't know anything, Gibbs." She smiled, and craned her head back to the sky, breathing deep the coolness of the morning. "But the air feels right."

"Right?" Marty frowned slightly. "Right for what?"

A smile curved across her face. "A clear day…" She looked out across the water. "And a certain course."

Gibbs' expression deepened, and the other men glanced surreptitiously at each other. They weren't reassured, despite Squirrel's attempt. She didn't blame them. She sounded as vague as Tia usually did. Excusing herself with a small bob of the head, Squirrel turned and crossed the deck again. She wandered between the huddles of gathered crewmen, just for something to do. Her feet took her on a weaving path around the ship, until she crossed paths with a familiar face.

Elizabeth didn't take her eyes off the fog as Squirrel came up beside her. "There's no sign of them."

"Not yet," Squirrel agreed. "They're not likely to attack before they can size up the situation. This fog hides us from them, as well as visa versa." The King nodded thoughtfully. "Though," Squirrel added, her voice lower, "Given their numbers, a tactical advantage shouldn't be a problem."

Now she took her eyes away from the horizon. "How do you know their numbers?"

"I had breakfast with his Lordship not too long ago," Squirrel said a little tersely, given her memory of that man's mocking smirk, "And the _Diana_'s back on the Company's side. That's how I found Sam."

Elizabeth frowned slightly over the water. "I see."

"They're more than ready for us, Captain Swann," Squirrel sighed. "And more than ready to see us all die."

Elizabeth said nothing for a moment, staring out across the water with dark, unreadable eyes. Then she glanced back to Squirrel. "Would you like me to put your hair up?"

Squirrel recognised the offer as the gesture of friendship it was, and smiled. "Why not? Though, I'd rather not have a ponytail. Call it vanity, but I'd rather not look like a man."

Elizabeth giggled softly. "I don't think there's any danger of that, Squirrel."

"No," Squirrel agreed, looking down at herself. "Not anymore." She stared out over the water as Elizabeth raked her fingers through her unruly brown hair. "Beckett has at least thirty-four vessels with him," she said softly, so that no-one else would hear. "Most of them war brigs and battlers, and all of them well-equipped. Even the _Diana_'s guns have been replaced with great sodding monsters."

"But only thirty four? Then we outnumber them."

Squirrel nodded slightly. "But numbers aren't everything, Lizzie. Just because there are more ships of the Court doesn't mean we have the advantage."

"Cannons take a while to load and prime," Elizabeth said, "And they're hardly accurate when facing lighter, swifter ships. Which is what the Brethren have."

"True. But they have the _Dutchman_."

"But we have the _Black Pearl_. Do you have a piece of string, or something?"

Squirrel tore a scrap of blue cloth from her right bracer, and handed it to Elizabeth. After a few moments of fiddling, Elizabeth stepped back. Squirrel put a hand up to the back of her head. Half of her hair had been bound back in something like a ponytail. The rest was left free. It was out of her face, but still loose enough to look gentle and feminine.

"Thankyou," Squirrel smiled.

Elizabeth smiled back. "You're welcome."

Squirrel glanced across the water. Not far from the _Pearl_, the _Empress_ was moored, waiting with nose towards the fog like every other ship in the line. Squirrel could see Tai Huang brooding by the railing, his face just like the countless other faces of the men on all the Brethren's ships, his eyes pointed in the same direction.

"I would have thought you'd be on your ship, your majesty." Squirrel closed one eye briefly. "Why did you decide to join us?"

Elizabeth looked out over the water again. "As king, I can be on whatever ship I choose. I chose this one." She smiled slightly to Squirrel. "It's the one I'm most familiar with, notwithstanding it's the fastest ship in the Caribbean. It stands to reason that this ship is going to be the one that takes down Davy Jones at last."

"Not to mention it's been to Hell and back," Squirrel smiled to herself and patted the railing, "More than once."

Elizabeth let a shadow of concern cross her face. "Do you think we can defeat them? Beckett and Jones?"

Squirrel took a breath and let it out slow. "Not as we are, no."

"What do you mean?"

She gave a muted gesture to the ships either side of them. "These men have all agreed to follow you to victory, Elizabeth Swann. But the moment they scent something on the wind that is not what they followed you for, they'll run."

"They can't." She shook her head. "They gave their word…"

"They're pirates," Squirrel said pragmatically, and Elizabeth fell into a silence that showed she was convinced. "Listen, Elizabeth. You're going to have to give these men - these pirates - something more than what you have. Sure, they'll fight because you tell them to, but… they won't win with that alone."

Elizabeth looked out across the water, eyes sad. "So this mission is failed before it's even begun."

"Only if you can't give them something more." Squirrel gripped the railing. "Hope is a fragile thing, Lizzie. Fear can shatter it into pieces. You need to give these men more than just a good and righteous cause. Pirates won't die for that. You have to give them…" She shrugged expansively, lost for words, lost for an example of any kind. "Something. Something that will make them face death and laugh."

Elizabeth considered this a moment, her face hard and her eyes determined. "Of course."

Squirrel smiled slightly. "They'll be looking to you, Elizabeth. But I trust you'll find what you need to rally them, when the time comes."

"'Something that will make them face death and laugh'," Elizabeth echoed. She shook her head incredulously. "Hopefully, it won't have to come to that." She gave Squirrel a short hug. "But thankyou for your advice."

_It will come to that_, Squirrel thought, as her feet took her away. _I'm on the precipice myself_. Soon after her wanderings began, they ended in the presence of someone she wished she could muster up the gladness to see, had she not known what the day would bring.

"What's this?" Jack raised an eyebrow at her, and ran a finger down her shoulder. "Bare arms to bear arms?"

Squirrel shivered, not so much from the cold this time, and gave a wry smile. "Didn't want to have anything that would get tangled up or slow me down." She patted her hair again, and was once again pleased with the way it was bound.

"With you wearing more blades than a Barbary corsair?" Jack nodded, and gave a smile. "'S a good plan."

"Just like yours," Squirrel lowered her voice. She jerked her head towards the men crowding the decks. "You need to move fast. Find the heart as quick as you can. There's too many lives at risk here for you to take your time."

Jack nodded sagely, thoughtfully, but put forward his own take on the possibility of heroism. "Yeah, the sooner the better, I reckon." While Squirrel laughed softly, he turned towards her and raised a teasing eyebrow. "Now… do I get a hug?" He opened his arms slightly.

"What?" She wrinkled her nose.

Jack smirked, but his eyes were sober. He lifted his arms a little more, a none-too-subtle hint. "Seein' as you're sayin' your goodbyes all over the ship, I'd figure I'd get one as well."

"I'm not saying goodbye," Squirrel said, trying to hide from Jack that she was cold all over, "I'm doing and saying everything that needs to be done and said. Just in case."

He lowered his arms and looked a little disheartened. "Ah." He looked at her with mournful eyes as he lowered his arms.

Squirrel snorted, smothering a laugh. "Oh, stop it. I don't need to say goodbye to you, anyway."

He brightened a little. "Oh yeah. Because you're not leaving." He slapped a palm against the railing and hitched his other thumb into his belt.

But Squirrel shook her head. "No," she pinked slightly, "Because technically, I already said goodbye to you."

Jack rubbed his chin in thought, then grinned wickedly. "Seems I got the better deal than Gibbs and the lads, then." He licked his lips with small, teasing motions.

"Scallywag," Squirrel muttered, flushing a little.

Jack grinned a while longer, then jerked his chin to a lone figure leaning on the railing on the opposite side of the ship. "You said your goodbyes to him, yet?"

Squirrel looked over at Sam, and shook her head slowly. "I don't think I can," she said, voice weak.

"Why not?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Squirrel reached up and fingered her amulet, setting it clinking softly against the row of stones under it. "Because I'm afraid that if I do, I'll…" She bowed her head slightly. "… I'll never see him again."

"And if you don't say anything, and he does die?" Jack raised an eyebrow. He wasn't being cruel, just pragmatic.

Squirrel clenched the silver coin in her fist. "I don't know," she admitted. "That's what scares me."

Jack put a hand on the small of her back and pushed her forward. "Then go tell him that."

She staggered forward a few steps, then looked back, puzzled. "Jack?"

He pulled a face at her. "Come on, luv. There's no point in bein' honest if the only one you're honest to is me. I tend to take it for granted, 'case you didn't notice." He turned away, nonchalance and ease, then glanced back over his shoulder. "'Sides, its high time you stopped letting what you think scare the living daylights out of you because you don't say 'em, savvy?" Squirrel smiled, a little dazed by Jack's ability to read her, then weaved her way through the crowd until she was back by Sam's side.

The air above them was shifting; Squirrel could feel the warmth of the sun growing behind her. Soon, the fog would be burned away, and all that would be seen was the wide expanse of the sea, and thirty-four sets of white sails.

"Don't die, Séamus," she whispered. "Please. Don't die."

He remained at the railing, silent and staring out at the water. Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to hers. "That's not a promise I can make, _a stór_."

Squirrel said nothing, but looked down at the waves that washed against the _Pearl_'s hull. She hadn't meant for Sam to hear her. They stood together, silent, the foot-wide gap between them as solid and tangible as any brick wall; the silence made it seem even more of a barrier. The fog whispered through the air. The waves beat gently against the hull.

"I saved an albatross once."

Squirrel lifted her eyes from her reverie. "What?"

"One time when we were headed for Cape Horn," Sam elaborated, hazel eyes on the distant fog-obscured horizon again, "Poor devil got itself tangled up in the riggin', making a right mess. No-one wanted t' help it, what with it bein' bad luck and all, but they couldn't just let it die, neither. No-one knew what to do. I went up with me knife, cut the ropes, let it fly out free again. Saved the ship, the crew, and the poor bird all in one." He smiled faintly. "Seems I _do_ have a few stories t' tell yeh after all, _a stór_."

Squirrel put her hand on the railing, halfway between where she stood and where Sam was leaning, trying to break the barrier. "I'd like to hear them," she said softly.

Sam sighed and smiled. "And I'd like to tell them." He smiled carelessly at her through the tangle of his bangs. "Provided I'm still around to tell them t' yeh when this is over."

_It was your fate to die at sea_, Tia's now-cruel warning echoed back to Squirrel.

"Provided," Squirrel echoed faintly, her blood cold in her veins.

Sam gave her a wry smile. "Yeh were a prayin' lass, weren't yeh?"

"Well," she admitted with a smile, "I am now."

Sam drummed his palms on the railing as he pushed himself upright. "Then that's all the extra help we'll need." He leaned on the lines and looked out to sea.

Squirrel lifted her hand to reach for him, then lowered it. She reached again, then pulled her hand back, and gave an inaudible sigh. _Of course it is. But… that's not what I wanted to hear from you._ She looked out through the fog.

Sunlight rose over the water, burning the mist away. There was motion in the distance. Squirrel felt her heart race as a white sail forged forward into view. The _Endeavour_.

"The enemy is here!" Marty cheered, "Let's take 'em!"

His roar was picked up and echoed by everyone aboard the _Pearl_, and from the throat of every man aboard every ship of the Brethren Court. Weapons were brandished in challenge and bloodlust.

Squirrel and Sam glanced at each other, silent and expectant, then turned their eyes back to the fog.

Behind Beckett's flagship came others. Behind them came more. Behind them, more still. The cheers and cries died or were abruptly strangled at the sight of Beckett's armada. Cotton's parrot took to wing, flying back to Shipwreck Island with a panicked cry of 'Abandon ship!' Everyone was silent, stunned and shocked and terrified by the sight of at least a hundred war brigs flying the EITC flag. Squirrel could all but feel the hope bleeding from all the ships and falling to the sea as fear crystallised in every heart.

"There's a fair few more than last we saw 'em," Sam breathed, wide-eyed.

"Sodding hell," Squirrel agreed, feeling cold all over.

* * *

"The fact Beckett agreed to meet under a flag of truce means he has no illusions about our situation."

Squirrel nodded grimly in agreement as she and Elizabeth watched the crew wrestle with the lines mooring a lifeboat. "He knows he can defeat us as we are," she whispered.

The pirate king adjusted her hat slightly, a restless motion. "What do we do?" Her eyes were hard yet uncertain.

"Winner takes all is the best we can expect," Squirrel murmured. "He won't accept any other terms."

Elizabeth frowned darkly. "So this meeting is little more than a token show of mercy. And likely the only mercy he's going to show us at all."

"Exactly." Squirrel glanced sidelong down to where Barbossa stood. The pirate captain had himself drawn up high, chin tilted in defiance against the ships on the horizon. He seemed a man of action and strength. But the monkey on his shoulder was crouched low, chattering and glaring about in mischief. Though she could hardly read the man, Squirrel knew that sometimes the primate let slip clues about what Hector really thought.

But, of course, Squirrel already knew what he was up to.

Before Elizabeth entered the boat, Squirrel lowered her voice and whispered, "Be careful, Lizzie. I think Barbossa has something up his sleeve."

Jack pushed past the two women to climb down into the boat first. "What else is new?" He muttered, shooting Squirrel a look that conveyed how stupid he thought her. Squirrel pressed her lips together, wishing she felt in enough of a mood to smile in return.

Elizabeth glanced to Barbossa, nodded slightly, then looked back to Squirrel. "Take care of the _Pearl_ while I'm gone, Captain Grey," she said, raising her voice for all to hear.

"What?" Jack objected from the boat. "While _you're_ gone?" Barbossa just rolled his eyes.

Squirrel blanched a moment, then nodded. "Aye, your majesty. Of course." The deck beneath her feet and the pressure of eyes on her had never seemed so heavy. She watched as Elizabeth, Jack and Barbossa were lowered into the sea, and as their longboat made slow progress to a long sandbar between the two lines of ships.

She felt a weighty silence on the ship behind her for a moment, then someone spoke up. "Orders, Captain?"

Squirrel turned slowly, and saw Gibbs standing at the head of the men aboard. "Yes," she said, "Find all the spare timber you can, and use them to reinforce the hull. Start with the stern and then move to the port and starboard sides."

Gibbs frowned, and his expression was mirrored by the men around him. "What?"

"Reinforce the hull," Squirrel repeated. "We know the _Dutchman_ has forward-guns. But this time, we have the time to prepare for them." She gestured to the longboat crawling across the sea. "Parley or not, we're still going to have to fight. Get to it." When he didn't move, and his eyes darkened with uncertainty, Squirrel pushed her smile back into place. "Reinforce the hull, Mister Gibbs. It'll give us something of an advantage, don't you think?"

Gibbs said nothing for a good long while, then turned and started barking orders. Men started moving, many of them headed below. Squirrel smiled, and made to turn back to look across the water; Gibbs turned to face her, and froze her where she stood. His eyes were guarded, almost suspicious. It was a look she'd never seen him give before. It was a very measured look, as though he wondered the value of friendship over betrayal.

Squirrel gave him a sunny encouraging smile until he turned and walked away, after which her expression fell to a blank mask. She faced the sea, and looked bleakly out at all the white sails, and realised she hadn't smelled mutiny in the air like this for a very long time.

"Captain Grey has a nice ring t' it, don't yeh think?"

"Oh, I don't know, Sam," she said airily to the Irishman as he stood beside her, "I think 'captain' is a bit too much of a responsibility for me. I think the most I'd take is First Mate."

He grinned at her. "Oh, and I'd be Second Mate, then?"

She put her fingers to her chin in thought. "No," she mused, "I think Pintel, maybe. Or Ragetti. You'd be better suited to cabin boy, methinks." She winked.

Sam sighed in mock-sadness, and passed Squirrel a small telescope. "I'm demoted already? I think the power's gone to your head, _a stór_."

Squirrel put the glass to her eye and looked out over the water, scanning the line of Beckett's ships. She could see the cannons and ship's hulls and the number of men in much clearer detail now. "By the powers, they've got us outmatched," she murmured, feeling cold. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. It seemed to be telling her something, but she couldn't make out what. She focused her glass on the sandbar instead, and on the three figures waiting for Elizabeth, Jack and Barbossa to arrive.

As time stretched on, Squirrel could felt the muted sounds of carpentry below decks through the soles of her shoes; for some reason, someone's hammer struck in time with the beat of her heart. The air thickened as the sun rose higher. Men on the deck were silent and restive once again, though this time there was no expectancy. Just muted despair and anger.

Squirrel remained where she was, watching silently through the glass, Sam staying by her side, just as silent. At noon, Squirrel watched the longboat beach, watched as the three captains of the _Black Pearl_ crossed the sand towards their antagonists. She watched the tiny figures through the glass as they began the parley, but had no illusions about what the outcome would be.

Her heartbeat got more urgent, more insistent, and the humidity's familiar smell intensified. _Mutiny. Mutiny. Mutiny_…

She was not unprepared, then, or caught off-guard when the distant figure of Barbossa lashed out with his sword, or when there was the sound of a gun being cocked behind her, or when a fearfully surprised word burst from Sam's lips.

"Easy, Sam," she reassured him, still watching through the glass though she was no longer paying attention to what she was seeing. "Easy."

"_A stór_…" He hissed, trying to get her attention.

"Miss Grey," Gibbs said evenly, "We'll be takin' control of the ship now."

She didn't take the glass from her eye or even turn to face him. "Under whose authority?"

He seemed a little thrown by the question. "Please, lass," he said, making his voice a little gentle, "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Squirrel snapped the telescope closed, and turned to face the men who had guns and swords all drawn and readied and pointed in her direction. Gibbs' pistol shook slightly, but its aim was obvious enough. Squirrel put an arm up in front of Sam, stopping him from hefting his club or moving to stand in front of her. She didn't once take her eyes off Gibbs. "What did he promise you?" She asked softly.

Once again, Gibbs didn't look like he was expecting her to ask something like that. "We're taking the _Black Pearl_," he said, and the men behind him muttered in agreement. "If we're to have any chance at all against Beckett, we're going to stand with a captain who actually knows what he's doin'."

"You bastard! An' here I thought…"

"Sam! That's enough!" She made a calming gesture with her hand, but still did not look away from Gibbs.

Sam stared between her and the scene before them. "… 's madness," he muttered, taking his hand off his cudgel.

Squirrel stared unblinkingly at Gibbs, face blank. "Put the gun down, Gibbs. You don't want to shoot me."

Gibbs stared at Squirrel, the gun still aimed towards her. His eyes were uncertain, hesitating, and the pistol shook slightly. But he still didn't lower his arm.

"If you're going to follow Barbossa's orders," Squirrel said evenly, "I obviously don't have the power to stop you. But do me a favour and at least finish what I ordered you to do." When he looked blankly at her, she reminded him, "The carpentry?"

Gibbs lowered his pistol at last. "Aye." He gestured to a few men - men who didn't know Squirrel or care who she was - and they stepped forward to menace her and Sam with swords and guns. Squirrel kept her eyes locked on Gibbs until he, like a whipped dog, slunk out of sight, taking men below with him. Then she opened the telescope and focused back on the sandbar again. Three figures were returning to the lifeboat. One of them wasn't Jack.

"Barbossa?" Sam murmured, frowning in confusion, "_A stór_, what the bloody hell is going on?"

"He's taken over the _Black Pearl_ before," Squirrel replied. "It's no surprise he'd do so again. He is a master tactician, after all." She sighed. "I just didn't expect Gibbs to change sides so quickly. Or willingly." She lowered the glass from her eye. "Hector Barbossa is brilliant." Below her feet, the sound of hammers resumed.

Sam shook his head, as though unable to believe that Squirrel should be complimenting the man who turned a whole ship on them. "What's he planning, anyways?"

"To unleash the power of the sea," Squirrel said faintly, folding the telescope back up and handing it back to Sam. "And may God have mercy on us all."


	28. Calypso

**Disclaimer**: Never smell dee fly.

**A/N**: Nothing to see here. Just the chapter to read.

* * *

To their credit, the men on the _Black Pearl_ were clever enough to keep their weapons hidden when the longboat returned. Barbossa climbed up first, and surveyed the gathered men with a superior eye. He flicked a hand to Marty, who ran below to get Gibbs and the others. Sam cursed under his breath in Gaelic. Barbossa didn't even so much as glance towards him. Squirrel kept her face carefully composed. Barbossa didn't look at her, either. Him folding his arms may or may not have been a coincidence.

Will offered his hand to Elizabeth and helped her aboard. "We'll need to use the _Black Pearl_ as a flagship to lead the attack," she was saying.

"Oh," Barbossa burred, "Will we now?"

It took only an instant for Will and Elizabeth to take in the fact that they were encircled by men with hostile faces, and that Squirrel and Sam were pressed against the railing and looking very unhappy. Not only that, but from the stairs, Gibbs and the crewmen were leading Tia Dalma - bound over and over again by ships' ropes - up onto the deck. Elizabeth looked to Squirrel, startled and alarmed, as though asking for some explanation.

"I'm sorry, captain," Squirrel said, moving slightly to show her arms were gripped by the men either side of her, "There were too many of them."

Will turned on the pirate, his expression showing he thought - like Squirrel had - that he could use reason to change the man's mind. "Barbossa, you can't release her!"

The weapons were revealed: Will and Elizabeth were encircled by pistols and sharp blades in the blinking of an eye. Squirrel felt Sam tense up beside her, but he couldn't move to do anything. The men that guarded them weren't going to let them move an inch.

"We need to give Jack a chance!" Elizabeth protested.

_Ah_, Squirrel thought, _So now she knows what Jack has in store._ _And without Jones or Beckett knowing? _She marvelled a moment. _It seems we all understand each other well enough now that we can make a plan without speaking…_

Barbossa was unimpressed. Clearly, he wasn't in the loop. Either that, or he didn't think much of Jack's plan, or he didn't care. "Apologies, your majesty," he spat the words. "Too long my fate has not been in me own hands." He fingered the jade medallion Elizabeth wore - the one Squirrel had recognised as the one belonging to Sao Feng. "No longer." Barbossa tugged at the medallion, snapping the string. Elizabeth glowered at him, jaw set and head tilted in proud defiance.

"You bastard," Sam muttered.

Squirrel glanced to him. "Hush, paddy," she murmured, before the men holding him broke his arm to shut him up.

Barbossa paused crossing the deck, and sent a smirk in Squirrel's direction. "Anythin' you'd like t' say, Miss Grey?"

Squirrel rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "I've already said my peace, _Captain Barbossa_," she said, stressing the words for means of insult, "You know my mind."

Nothing showed on his face; nothing that would show a stab of conscience or regret that would mark him as weak by the men who were now under his command. And he was a master of keeping command, whatever the cost. "Aye, that ye did. And so I do." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a string of beads - Jack's beads - and continued on towards the bound and surly-eyed Tia Dalma.

Will, Sam, Elizabeth, and Squirrel all glanced each others' way, each one doing what they could to reassure, apologise, or both. They couldn't do much else, held back as they were.

Pintel had the bowl that contained the pieces of eight, and Barbossa dropped in the 'pieces of eight' that had belonged to Jack and Sao Feng. The men pressed close, peering forward in curiosity. Tia, bound and bundled up in ropes to the point where she seemed wider than she was tall, glowered out scathingly at the sky and the open water, to where Beckett's ships were waiting.

Gibbs shuffled forward, one of the main ropes binding Tia in his hands. "Be there some manner of rite, or incantation?" He asked, peering around Barbossa's shoulder to get a better look at the bowl.

Squirrel shook her head slightly at how eager he sounded. _From wanting nothing to do with her at the very beginning, now he wants to see this first-hand? Quite the charisma Barbossa has, if he can sway a man as set in his beliefs as Joshamee Gibbs_. She gave a twisted smile. _Well, as set in his beliefs as any fair-weather friend could be._

"Aye," Barbossa said. "The items to be brought together…" He gestured with his hands over the bowl, "Done. The items to be burned…" He held out his hand, and Cotton passed him a cannon-wick. Gibbs emptied some of his rum into the bowl to facilitate the second step. "And," Barbossa added, "Someone must speak the words 'Calypso, I release you from your human bonds'."

Pintel screwed up his face, perplexed by the simplicity of it all. "Is that it?"

Barbossa smiled. "Tis said it must be spoken as if to a lover."

The men chuckled lecherously amongst themselves, casting knowing and leering glances back and forth; Tia looked duly unimpressed. Meanwhile, Squirrel caught sight of Will and Elizabeth glancing at each other out of the corner of her eye. _To a lover…_ She shivered slightly, wondering why those words sounded like a dark portent of some kind.

Barbossa braced his legs against the deck, took a bold, overly-theatrical stance, and turned his eyes to the sky. "Calypso!" He boomed, voice echoing across the waters. "I release you… from your human bonds…" He touched the glowing end of the wick into the rum-filled bowl. Nothing happened. Not even the rum ignited. Barbossa faltered, confused.

Sam chuckled. "Been a while, has it, cap'n?"

"Sam!" Squirrel jabbed her elbow into his ribs, trying not to laugh as well. "Heh-hush! Heh heh."

"Is that it?" Pintel asked in disappointment, looking into the bowl. Barbossa looked at Calypso, puzzled. She shot him a dirty look in reply.

"No, no, no," a small voice protested. "You didn't say it right!"

Barbossa stepped back, and looked with undisguised disdain at the pirate that had spoken up.

"He didn't…" Ragetti faltered slightly as all eyes turned his way. "You didn't say it right. You have to say it right."

Squirrel blinked, remembering what seemed like so long ago, that same timid pirate peering embarrassed over the cover of a leather-bound book. _I like stories_. Ragetti seemed to remember as well. He glanced at Squirrel a moment before he flushed and looked away. He crept timidly towards Tia Dalma, hands caught up together, meek and uncertain. "Calypso?"

Tia turned her eyes in his direction, but there was a flicker of curiosity there now.

"I…" Pintel crept forward, and closed his one good eye, and leant down to whisper in her ear. Squirrel couldn't catch what he was saying, but she felt a shiver of pleasure go through her whole body. She gave a small moan, and closed her eyes. Her knees buckled.

Someone gripped her arm, stopping her from falling. "_A stór_? Are you alright?"

Squirrel shook herself, and opened her eyes to see Tia Dalma's neck arching back. The dark-skinned woman writhed within the cocoon of ropes. Squirrel heard a muted puff of wind, and smelled burning rum. Pintel gave a yelp and leapt back. But the bowl remained. Men stared in horrified fascination as the bowl hovered in mid-air, its contents burning and crackling and warping from the flames. Tia Dalma spasmed and shook, then tilted back her head and breathed in the smoke, a strange ancient creaking noise coming from her throat and from the air around her at the same time.

Squirrel felt a shudder go through her whole body.

"Tia Dalma!" Will leapt forward; his captors grabbed him, and tried to pull him back. But Will - as always - was steady and would not be shaken.

Tia Dalma ignored him, continuing to breathe in the smoke.

Will lowered his voice, and hissed, "Calypso."

Now she reacted. The woman's eyes snapped open, wild and savage and infinitely more… powerful… than anything Squirrel had ever seen in one person before. It was as though there was something far greater contained in that mortal body. The bowl clattered to the deck, spilling ashes and dying coals. Men backed away; Squirrel held her breath.

"When the Brethren Court first imprisoned you," Will said, his even eyes locked with those fierce ones of Calypso, "Who was it that told them how?" The woman shuddered and spasmed, but did not take her eyes from Will. Will struggled with the men who held him back, trying to press closer to her as he drove his words home. "Who was it that betrayed you?"

"Neeme him!" Tia snapped, her eyes savage and desperate.

Will paused, then spoke a single name. "Davy Jones."

_The King of the Sea stole the Queen from her bed…_

Tia stared in a moment of dull shock, her eyes pleading and denying. But there was no denial of the truth that had been known all along. The dark-skinned woman screwed her eyes tight and threw her head back to the sky, mouth open in a silent scream, face and body contorting as though she were in pain. Squirrel recognised that pain. That pain was the heartache that came when one whom you loved with all your being cut the ground from beneath you; when the one you loved betrayed you. Squirrel had felt that same feeling before. She knew what was to come next.

_Anger. Rage. __Fury_.

The men shouted in alarm as the woman they were guarding suddenly _grew_. The crew backed away, while those who held the ropes tried their best to restrain her. But the woman - Tia Dalma no longer, but Calypso through and through - swelled and lengthened like a sapling turning into a tree. The ropes could not contain or restrain her; nothing could hold back the sea itself. And she would not be controlled any longer. Squirrel watched in horrified fascination as the ropes slithered around the woman's body, as lithe and as quick and as dangerous as striped serpents.

_The snakes from my dream_, she thought, feeling strangely light-headed, even as she backed away from the spectacle with the rest of the crowd. _I thought my dream was done, but it's not. Not by a long shot._

Men dropped the ropes, screaming in pain from the burns they received from the swiftly sliding hemp, while others gestured feebly at the growing goddess with harpoons, as though considering the pros and cons of striking her and finding more reasons for the latter than the former; others still ran below to seek refuge, or headed either to the stem or the stern, trying to get out of Calypso's way. And still the woman grew, rising to the sky.

"God have mercy!" Sam hauled Squirrel backwards; apparently, their captors had decided that there was a bigger threat than an Irishman and a girl. Squirrel let him take her, and watched as the place she'd once been standing was replaced by Calypso's foot. Squirrel felt the back of her leg nudge a cannon, and knew Sam couldn't back them any further without having to go around or over; for a moment, it looked like the Irishman was considering it, but he couldn't take his eyes from the woman towering above their heads, so he held Squirrel in his arms as if to shield her.

Something tumbled down from the heights and shattered at Squirrel's feet with the tinkling of glass, but she dared not look down to see what it was. The sight of the sea goddess swelling up before her had paralysed Squirrel beyond fear. The necklace of stones itched around her neck; they had never been so heavy before.

Calypso had reached the height of the mainmast now, and the ropes and the tattered remains of her dress were all that preserved her modesty. Yet she was so frightening it wouldn't have mattered if she were clothed or not - to all aboard, she was not a woman at all, but a monster. The sea given human form.

"Calypso!" Barbossa's voice cut through the terrified silence and the groaning of the giantess. Squirrel turned her face away from the sight of Calypso, and saw Barbossa kneeling. The rest of the ship was following his example. "I come before you as a servant… humble and contrite…"

"Sam…" She tapped the Irishman on the arm.

Sam gestured to the cannon they were standing in front of, and to the gigantic foot blocking what space there was in front of them. There was no way for either of them to drop to their knees. "Even if we could," he added, his voice a panicked whisper, "Yeh know I wouldn't."

"Crouch, then," she told him, glancing back up at Calypso. "So she won't see us?" At this point, they were the only ones still standing.

"Good plan," he muttered, eyes still wide with fear, and they squatted down on the cannon. Looking down at her feet, Squirrel saw what had broken in front of her before. It was the bottle she'd stolen from Tia Dalma, the one she'd filled with sand from the Locker. Glass fragments and white sand grains sparkled like stars across the deck. A small piece of green was within reach; Squirrel quickly snatched it up before anyone else saw, and then wondered why she did.

"I have fulfilled me vow," Barbossa was saying, "And now ask your favour."

Calypso gave an inky smile, her eyes black and unfeeling as the night sky… or the depths of the ocean.

"Spare me life, me ship, me crew!" Barbossa gestured over everyone gathered, "But unleash your fury upon those who dare pretend themselves your masters…" Squirrel's sharp ears caught him adding a small phrase on the end of his plea in a low voice, a phrase which had no place in the grandiose statement he'd already made. "_Or mine_…"

Calypso smiled, a frightening imitation of Tia's familiar coquettish smile, as she considered the insects below her. Then her soulless eyes widened in the anger that still burned, as it had burned for all those years she was imprisoned. Her expression shifted like the tide, and from her mouth came a loud, unintelligible bellow. The whole ship shook with the strange words, words which - even as they were heard - were lost, not due to their strangeness, but to the way they rattled around in the skull and chilled the soul to the core.

And yet somehow, Squirrel heard them clearly, as though the woman were at her ear.

_MALFAITEUR EN TOMBEAU CROCHIR L'ESPLANADE DANS L'FOND D'L'EAU!_

_Across all the waters_, Squirrel mouthed, the necklace pressing heavily down on her, _Show the path to the one who wrongfully entombed me…_

Barbossa had risen to his feet, sensing the favour he was going to ask wasn't going to be granted. As the dying syllables of Calypso's heartbroken rage faded away, the woman's skin rippled and buckled, turning a strange mottled brown. The giantess shook her head to the final word, and the discolouration grew and tore across the rest of her. Elizabeth gave a shout of warning, but by then it was too late to flee. And besides, where would they have gone?

Calypso disintegrated, and the pieces of her rained down over all the crew. Crabs. Hundreds and thousands of crabs. A wave of the creatures cascaded down, and crashed down on the ship like a tidal wave, knocking men off their feet and burying everything in chittering brown carapaces.

Sam yelped as the wave broke over them, but Squirrel was too numb to make a cry. The creatures washed over her, as inexorable as any tide - if not more so. They were all over her, in her hair and clinging to her clothes and knocking her feet from under her. In their numbers, they almost felt like human hands. Squirrel felt herself being pushed, dragged, _carried_ to the railing, just as the crabs had carried the _Pearl_ over the dunes in Davy Jones' Locker. Towards the sea. She struggled and shouted, but couldn't get free. The crabs moved faster, and Squirrel found herself hanging headfirst over the railing.

"Oh no yeh don't!" A hand gripped her by the wrist and yanked her back. Sam gave her a grim smile as he hauled her back onto the deck, away from the ocean. Squirrel nodded by means of thanks, then the pair of them turned to watch as the tide of crabs washed overboard. They were vanishing into the sea, the surface churning and bubbling from their passage below. In a few moments, it was as though they'd never been there at all. Sam still hadn't let go of Squirrel; his grip on her tightened reflexively for a moment before he let her go.

The crew were gathering at the railing. "Is _that_ it?" Pintel asked, incredulous. He stared morosely down at the still water. "Why, she's no 'elp at all."

As Squirrel looked down over the edge, her necklace slid out from under her hair and fell, following after the crabs. She watched the stone necklace tumble down through space and hit the water with a splash. It, like the creatures Calypso had disintegrated into, was soon lost to sight, vanishing into the depths of the sea. Squirrel put a hand to her neck, frowning. _That shouldn't have come loose_, she thought, _Not_ _with the catch that was on it. The only way it would come undone was if I'd unfastened the hook myself_. Her frown smoothed itself out, and she leaned back from the rails. _Ah. But then, I did intend to return the gift she'd given me, hadn't I?_ _Well, looks like she took back what was hers_. Squirrel fingered her silver amulet, checking that the tie just as secure as it had ever been, and was glad she hadn't lost that, too.

Barbossa joined the crew at the railing, looking down at the water with a blank look on his face.

"What now?" Pintel asked him.

There was a whisper on the wind. Squirrel closed her eyes and tilted her head back, her body swaying across the deck away from the rest of the men. She could feel the pressure in the air shifting, deepening, growing and changing. She gave a long breath of a sigh, and saw behind closed eyelids her breath rising up to the sky, curling and twisting like a shawl on the breeze, joining the currents that flowed above her head.

"Nothin'," Barbossa was saying bitterly, his voice distant and indistinct to Squirrel, "Our last hope has failed us."

Squirrel spun slowly on the spot, head still craned back to the sky. There was a gust of wind again, one which teased through her hair and pulled at her clothes and made the whole ship rattle and creak. The air smelled different. The wind tasted different. The air _felt_ different.

"_A stór_?" He was standing right beside her. "_A stór_, are you alright?"

"She's still here," Squirrel whispered, opening her eyes. Above the _Pearl_'s mast, the sky was darkening, and clouds were slowly rolling in. "She's still here."

Sam frowned, concerned, as Squirrel looked at him and smiled serenely. "What are yeh talkin' about?"

Squirrel shook herself awake, but the lighter-than-air feeling remained. "Calypso. She's not gone." She looked across the water to where Beckett's ships were moored. The sea was going as dark as the skies above. "Don't you feel it?"

"It's not over," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, the wind teasing at her golden hair now that there was no hat to hold it in place.

"There's still a fight to be had," Will agreed. He caught Squirrel's eye; she smiled faintly at him.

Gibbs shook his head. "We've an armada against us," he said, "And with the _Dutchman_, there's no chance."

Elizabeth was calm and unmoved. "There's only a fool's chance."

"Feel what?"

Squirrel took Sam by the arm. "Can't you feel it?" She asked him, looking up to the sky again. "Don't you recognise it?"

The Irishman looked at her in confusion a moment, then he, too, looked up to the greying sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He frowned slightly, as though he could feel something that he couldn't put a name to.

"It's like Cape Horn," Squirrel whispered. "Remember?" The air felt the same as it had that day, when the wall of clouds had broke upon them after days of calm seas and good winds; the air had the same feel to it as the day Tia Dalma had lowered her arms from pushing back the sky.

"Aye," Sam said, slowly opening his eyes. "I remember." He looked to Squirrel, and squeezed her hand nervously before they both glanced over to where the rest of the crew were standing.

Barbossa left the railing to give his bitter advice to Elizabeth. "Revenge won't bring your father back, Miss Swann, and it's not something I'm intendin' t' die for."

The golden-haired woman heard him, and considered his words, but didn't hesitate a moment. "You're right," Elizabeth said, and walked through the crew. A second later, she stopped, and looked back at him. "Then what shall we die for?" She looked around, at the crew gathered, with all faces turned her way, watching her. Waiting.

Squirrel caught the King's eye, and gave a barely-perceptible nod. _We're all looking to you, Elizabeth. Give us something that will make us face death and laugh_. Elizabeth nodded briefly in return.

"You will listen to me," she told the crew. "LISTEN!" She climbed up onto the railing, hair unbound and wild in the wind, and looked across the deck at every frightened face. But the woman herself showed nothing but courage. Just like a true pirate captain should. "The Brethren will still be looking here to us, to the _Black Pearl_, to lead. And what will they see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship? No!" She shook her head. "No! They will see free men! And freedom!"

Squirrel felt her heart stirring inside her, even as the wind and the sky and the sea rippled with something _other_. The blood was ringing in her ears, and her pulse kept time to an old familiar tune. Beside her, Sam straightened his back, watching Elizabeth with awe in his eyes.

"And what the enemy will see," Elizabeth continued, her voice lifting louder still, "Is the flash of our cannons. They will hear the ring of our swords and They. Will. Know. What! We! Can! Do!" She tempered the steel for a moment to single out faces in the crowd. "By the sweat of our brows… and the strength of our backs… and the courage of our hearts!" She sighed a moment, and appealed to the men she'd already won, the men she'd turned from fear and despair to strength and courage with only a few well-placed phrases. Her voice was a murmur, but everyone heard what she said. "Gentlemen… Hoist the colours."

It started off small, a ripple of rumour that spread quickly through the whole crew. _Hoist the colours. Hoist the colours_. Softly, with the murmuring, Squirrel started to sing.

"_Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colours high… Heave ho, thieves and beggars… never shall we die…_"

The murmurs grew to cries, the phrase _hoist the colours_ repeated from man to man. It stirred every heart, gave steel to every soul. Fear? What fear? There was no fear or desperation aboard this ship! Hoist the colours! And the rest be damned!

"Aye!" Gibbs shouted, "The wind's on our side, boys! That's all we need!" The men cheered, and their shouts echoed loud and clear in the pre-storm air.

"HOIST THE COLOURS!" Elizabeth shouted to the ships behind her.

Squirrel's blood surged, and, with a grin, she threw back her head and sang loud for all to hear. "_Yo_ _ho! All hands! Hoist the colours high!_" The sound of victorious shouting spread all across the line, to every ship of the Brethren Court. "_Heave ho! Thieves and beggars! Never say we die_!"

It had been a song of desperation, once. A song sun at hangings. A song that signalled the end of a pirate's life; a song that signalled the end of an age. It had been a story, too. A story for those who knew it, a story that contained some truth about the world. And yet here, now, sung like this, it was no pitiable farewell, or a plea for remembrance. It was high-time it was sung as it should have been. Sung without fear or hesitation or even the thought of what lay in store ahead! This was a pirate's song, a song of defiance and freedom! Let them take our lives, the song said, let them! We will still be free! And that can never be taken from us!

Flags were raised to dance in the breeze. Weapons were brandished. And the voices of hundreds rang out in one accord.

"_NEVER SAY WE DIE_!"

* * *

**A/N**: Battle sequence next up! As always, I appreciate feedback and suggestions.


	29. Marry Me

**Disclaimer**: Ask me if I fear death.

**A/N**: I need more practice writing action sequences.

* * *

Men scuttled across the decks to their positions, carrying cannonballs and weaponry and making ready for the assault. Squirrel marched back and forth across the deck, alternating between barking orders and grinning up at the stormy sky or across the water. The blood was ringing in her ears and her feet tapped out an eager jig across the planking. _Let them come! We're more than ready!_

"Squirrel?"

"Aye?" She whirled around, grin wide. Her smile faded slightly as Will scuffed his feet on the deck.

"Listen, Squirrel, I wanted to tell you… That is to say, I want to apologise for."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh that's enough, William." She grinned. "Water under the bridge."

"But I… I threw you overboard… I could have killed you…"

Squirrel smiled at the confused look on his face. "You said you'd hope I'd understand. And I do understand. You were just doing what was right by you." she told him, "And I can forgive you for that. After all, if any of us hadn't have done what we did, we wouldn't be here, aye?" She narrowed her eyes in mock-menace. "In all fairness, though, what you did deserves a kick in the crotch."

Will winced slightly, then nodded. "Yes. I suppose it does."

"But," Squirrel said airily, "I don't think Elizabeth would like it if I did, so I'm not going to."

"Much obliged," Elizabeth said, passing the pair of them by on the way to the starboard side.

Squirrel watched her go, then looked back to Will with a grin. "See?"

Will glanced between Elizabeth and Squirrel, a perplexed look on his face. "You two aren't… You're not fighting anymore?"

Squirrel shrugged. "We're on the same side, aren't we? There'd be no sense in fighting amongst ourselves when we have _them_ on the horizon." She jerked her thumb to the _Dutchman_ and the armada, then grinned. "Welcome back to the _Black Pearl_, Mister Turner."

Will smiled. "Thankyou, Miss Grey." There was absolution in his eyes. He hurried off to assist some men with the fixing of one of the port side cannons.

Squirrel smiled fondly after him, then craned her head and looked back at the sky. The clouds swirled menacingly, and the air heaved at the sails. "Ninety eight," Squirrel whispered, "Ninety nine… and here it is." The sky broke open and shattered down in millions of cold glassy fragments. Squirrel shut her eyes as the rain stabbed down onto her upturned face. Within minutes, she was soaked to the bone.

_Of course_, she thought, wiping rain from her eyes. _What angry woman doesn't shed a few tears?_ She absently palmed the piece of cold green something she'd picked up, then slipped it into her pocket.

The _Dutchman_ leapt forward from the ranks of the armada, and the _Pearl_ answered the challenge. Lightning flashed and snarled through the dark and unfriendly sky, and the rain fell like avenging fists. Gibbs bellowed orders over the roar of the sea, and those below wrapped gunpowder in parcels of oilskin to keep them dry. Men scuttled back and forth to deliver them. One of these men was Sam. He gave Squirrel a brief but confident grin through his rain-flattened bangs as he passed her.

Squirrel grinned back, then her eyes were caught by a figure alone at the stern. She hurried to him, and stood by his side.

"Hector?"

He didn't lift his head. He just stood, the rain cascading down on him, staring at his open hand. There was a distant look in his eyes, almost as though he were a broken man. Squirrel saw an echo of the thin old scarecrow of a man she'd seen the day she decided to spurn drink for good. Only, this time, she received no comfort from the truth of who he was.

"Hector!"

Barbossa remained where he was, staring out into the storm. He flexed his hand, the fingers curling and uncurling slowly. And then he gave a whisper that would have been lost were Squirrel not standing right beside him. "Ye were right."

She put a hand on his arm. "Women always are, Hector."

Sad blue eyes glanced to her, and he managed to muster up a smile. But it was brief, and his eyes went back to his hand almost straight away.

"But I was wrong, too, you know."

"Oh? And how be that, angel?"

"Your second chance wasn't when I said it was. It's now." She squeezed his arm, trying to reassure him, trying to spur him into action. She wouldn't leave him like this. "You've always been a man of honour, Hector Barbossa. You kept your promise. You held up your end of the bargain. And now… you're still alive."

Barbossa opened his palm again, and said nothing.

Squirrel sighed faintly, but refused to let him falter. "Hector… you have your life again. And it's yours to live however you choose." He glanced at her, and considered her smile. "You're not going to let that go to waste, are you?"

Barbossa turned to look at her, a spark of familiar blue steel in those eyes of his.

"Maelstrom!" Gibbs' voice bellowed. Squirrel and Barbossa looked over the edge, and they both watched in fascination as the sea started to churn and swirl, carving up a spiral in the opposite direction that the winds were flowing.

_A whirlpool_, Squirrel thought, eyes wide and mouth fixed in a grin. _Oh, you clever bitch!_

"Captain Barbossa!" Elizabeth shouted, coming up behind them both. "We need you at the helm!"

Barbossa flexed his hand again, then looked up and considered the storm falling around them, considered the spiralling pattern on the sea. Then he turned to face Elizabeth.

"Aye," he said, eyes filling with merry determination, "That be true!" He leapt to the wheel, bodily heaved Mister Cotton aside, and took his place. "Brace up yard, ye cack-handed deck-apes!" He bellowed, full of vim and vigour as he had been the days Squirrel had known him. "Dyin' is the day worth livin' for!"

Squirrel laughed aloud, then catapulted down the stairs, landing with a flourish and spinning to her feet. _Yes_, she thought, _Let's make this as a story to be remembered for all times! For all of us!_ She ran for the prow, sure-footed even over the rain-slicked deck. She vaulted the railing, landed on that small platform above the figurehead - the one where Will had once cast her into the sea - and stood as far forward as she could, staring with wide and eager eyes over the water. "Come on!" She crowed over the railing to the vessel coming nearer from behind, drawing her sword and waving it, "Come and ask me! Ask me if I fear death!" She threw back her head and laughed into the storm.

Lighting crackled and thunder roared in answer.

Squirrel grinned. "Come on," she whispered, sheathing her sword for the time being. "Come and find out just how hard this rodent can bite!" She watched with almost hunger in her eyes as the _Dutchman_ carved its way across the swirling waters towards the _Pearl_. "Come!"

Barbossa's commanding voice, full of energy and enthusiasm, cut through the noise of the ship and the storm. "More speed! Haul yer wind and hold yer water!"

Cannons roared. Squirrel gripped a line as the whole ship shuddered, pieces torn from her yet again. Squirrel swore as she was nearly thrown overboard, then turned and bellowed obscenities at the _Dutchman_. The green-encrusted prow-cannons twirled and fired again and again. Some shots went wide, but others tore through the hull. It would only take one well-placed shot to cripple the _Pearl_ completely, to shatter her mainmast from below and send her careening into the depths.

"Not going to happen!" Squirrel snarled, her fingers digging into the railing and into the hemp rope. In seeming response to this, the _Pearl_ turned port-wards, moving down into the faster-moving water of the maelstrom. Squirrel threw back her head and sang a triumphant note, a note that warbled and changed into the song of defiance that all pirates knew. _Never shall we die_… And yet…

Squirrel tilted her head a moment, listening with a small smile as the ship tore through the rushing water and the savage storm. This wasn't the only song that was here today. As surely as the storms were gathering, so were all the stories. And with all the stories came the songs. There was that dark one, the old song of blood and bone, that song of gathering storms, cursed men, and desperation. There was the song of the _Pearl_, the song that was in the blood and sweat and the motions of all the crew. There was that song Squirrel had heard when staring into Will's eyes, that song that was now bold as brass and twice as strong. This same tune was echoed by a steely but feather-light refrain, in a way that reminded Squirrel of Elizabeth Swann. There was even Squirrel's own song, though far less merry and with a deal more _grit_ to it than it had before. Even Jack's song flitted between the rain, managing - like the man himself - to not be hit by a single drop. All the songs were coming together. This was the end of it all. Every song was here in the air, buzzing in the ears of those who listened and humming in the veins of those who did not.

And above all of these tunes, Squirrel heard one to which the words had long been forgotten. She grinned, and leant out to the water, watching as the maw of the whirlpool swept past her.

"You said I could keep it?" She shouted. "Does that mean you can't remember the words?" She laughed and threw an arm in the air as she leapt up onto the railing, still leaning on the rope. "Then how about I remind you, Calypso? How about I remind you of that story! Of the truth of it, not just another version!" So she threw back her head and sang, the lightning and the rain and the thunder and the sound of men's shouts kept imperfect time, just as they should.

"_Waves shall rise and waves shall fall… Over land and sea I'll call…_"

It had been a love song, once. It had been a song about everything that Calypso and Davy Jones could ever have wanted or dreamed. And yet, given their current circumstances, what was it but a horrible reminder of their pain and failure? Small wonder Tia Dalma had wanted Squirrel to take it from her memory - better to let someone else bear the horribly ironic burden of a love lost. Well, they'd foisted their miseries on others for long enough. Both Jones and Tia had those music boxes with them. They would both know the tune. And they would both know what this song meant to them.

It had been a love song, once.

With each verse Squirrel sang, the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ circled faster and faster, and the whirlpool frothed and foamed, its dark hole leading to nowhere seeming something like a glaring eye. Squirrel sang and sang and sang, and with each verse when the storm tried to silence or stifle her she sang all the louder. She sang until all the words were spent, and the story was well-told, and her heart was thundering in her chest louder than the storm.

It had been a love song, once.

"… _It was yours from the start_…" Squirrel finished, out of breath and grinning, then turned and clambered back onto the deck.

Sam looked up as she approached. "Good t' see yeh're still with us, _a stór_. Had me worried fer a while, 'til I heard your singin'."

Squirrel grinned back at him, flushed with excitement. "What? You think I'd miss this?" She looked out across the deck, and saw the Dutchman less than a league from them, nearly board-and-board. "Ooh, this is going to be _fun_!"

"Yeh mean dangerous, and stupid, and likely to kill us all?"

"That's what I said!" She went to the railing and looked across the expanse. Sam came with her, and together they judged the distance between the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_. It was a distance that was closing with every spin of the whirlpool, with every circle the ships made. The two decks of the ship were almost aligned. "A little closer and we might make it," she murmured, blinking rain and sea spray from her eyes. She put her hand on a loose line, then looked askance at Sam and grinned. "What do you think?"

"What?" Sam stared at her, and threw up his arms. "Are yeh MAD, _a stór_? I'm not swinging over the gaping maw of swirling torrential DEATH! That's somethin' only a fool would even…" He paused a moment, and looked at her. "Wait, why? Are you thinking of doin' it?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "No! It was just a thought." She grinned and released the rope.

He looked relieved, but also a little sheepish. "Oh. Well, good."

"Muster your courage, men!" Will shouted, heading across the deck to rally and steady the crew. "At the ready!"

Squirrel and Sam backed away from the railing, moving out of reach of the cannon recoil, and braced their feet against the timbers.

"Thieves and beggars!" Squirrel shouted.

"Never shall we die!" Sam cheered.

And the captains shouted in one accord: "FIRE! FIRE ALL!"

Blossoms of flame and smoke grew from both sides of the ship, and on both sides the timber broke and splintered and men were thrown and bloodied and killed. Squirrel threw her arms wide, dodging debris with a spin and a duck and a pirate's rhythm in her shoes. She laughed, and threw an insulting gesture to the ship off the port bow.

Gibbs lifted his head from the hold. "Timber's holding!" He shouted to Squirrel. "Port side's secure for now!"

"Good!" She shouted back. "Glad you listened to me!"

At the helm, Barbossa shouted out in maniacal glee. "It be too late to alter course now, mateys!" And he laughed, full of life as he had ever been.

_It always takes a storm_, Squirrel thought, grinning, _To really make us feel like we're alive…_

And then she saw something which made her heart nearly stop in her chest. There was a figure in the rigging of the _Dutchman_. One who wasn't wearing a navy-blue uniform, or wasn't tattered and green from years under the curse of Davy Jones. There was a chest in one of his hands, and he was swinging from a rope with flair and unusual but familiar flailing.

_Jack!_

Squirrel clenched her fists as he swung through the seaweed and sails, and was lost to her sight, but she smiled easily. _It all comes down to this_, she thought. _The dream's not over yet. There is still more to be done before my life draws to its inevitable conclusion. And I know what I have to do_.

The whole ship rocked, and Squirrel looked up, and saw the mainmasts of both ships were locked together. No escape from this. It was victory… or death.

"Borders! Borders off the port!"

She looked down, and saw Jones' crew and a decent handful of Beckett's men grabbing ropes in readiness to swing over. "Sam!" She shouted, drawing her sword and dagger.

"Aye!" Sam hefted his cudgel, "I see 'em!" He hoisted his weapon in the air. "T' arms, lads! T' arms!"

Will appeared at Squirrel's left, his sword readied, and nodded to her. "Let's see if those lessons have paid off."

Squirrel grinned over her blades. "Ten to one odds I lay a man out before you do!"

Sam grinned to Elizabeth. "Good thing yeh not wearin' a ballgown, Miss Swann. T'would be hard t' fight in, I imagine."

The blonde woman looked amused. "Yes, quite. Not to mention it would be ruined from all this rain."

Cannons continued to roar about them, and the air smelled of rain and salt and gunpowder. Men in uniforms and men twisted and monster-like swung across the vast expanse and roared in challenge as they attacked.

Squirrel gave a shrill whoop and leapt forward, dagger twirling and sword slicing through the rain and the flesh of one of Jones' crewmen. Her feet tapped out a dance, while her heart pounded along with the cannons. Sam danced beside her, swinging his cudgel with grim determination, knocking men aside or to the deck. Will and Elizabeth moved across the deck, swords spinning and bodies weaving in rhythm with the rocking of the ship.

_It's almost like they're dancing_, Squirrel thought absently. Indeed, the combined songs of all the years were in the air all around them.

A man with a face like a Portuguese Man-o'-War stepped in front of her, and Squirrel gave a shriek as one of his poisonous hair-tentacles slapped her upper arm, leaving a stinging welt. He grinned with rotten teeth and made to step towards her. Squirrel shrieked again and slashed out at his head, severing a handful of those stinging threads with her sword. Sam came up behind him and, with a heavy, two-handed blow, damn near crushed the jellyfish-man's head in. He crumpled on the deck.

"Yeh alright?" Sam crushed his rain-flattened bands from his eyes.

Squirrel nodded. "Fine," she said, not even bothering to glance at her arm.

Behind Sam, an EITC man raised his bayonet. Squirrel pushed Sam aside, leapt, and slashed the man's uniform from left to right. He collapsed, screaming, dropping his bayonet to press both hands across his chest.

Squirrel looked back to Sam. "Mind on the job at hand, paddy!"  
"Aye, aye!" He grinned at her, and leapt back into the fray.

More and more of Jones' crewmen and Beckett's soldiers were swinging across the swirling maelstrom to board the _Pearl_. Men from the _Pearl_ were likewise swinging across to lay siege to the _Dutchman_. At the helm, Squirrel saw Barbossa and Cotton fighting misshapen crewmen who were sliding out of the mast and the very timbers of the _Pearl_. And yet somehow the ship was kept on course, circling with the _Dutchmen_ like they were a pair of scrapping dogs rather than ships.

_A pair of digs with their crime between them_, Sao Feng's long-gone voice echoed through Squirrel's mind as she glanced at the whirlpool, and shuddered.

Attackers were coming from all sides. There were so many of them. And the cannons kept roaring and the rain kept falling and the song of blood and bone threatened to overwhelm them all.

Squirrel grit her teeth and set about clearing the deck of the attackers she could. With smooth, practiced movements, her sword and dagger moved with precision in slicing and stabbing those who came too close. Jumps and flips and a pirate's dancing feet were joined by the smooth flowing motions of _tai-qi_, and made her a force to be reckoned with. Men who wore Beckett's uniform were felled, but not killed; these men had no choice, but she wasn't a murderer. Jones' men, on the other hand, she laid into without a second thought. If they had fins or scales or slime or tentacles, Squirrel carved through them.

And they kept on coming.

_Never shall we die_, Squirrel hummed to herself, unconsciously trying to keep the fear at bay. _Never shall we die…_

"Elizabeth!"

Squirrel pivoted on her feet, thinking that Will had shouted because the woman had been felled. But both Will and Elizabeth were fine. They were even fighting together now, moving in the same space rather than spread out.

"Elizabeth… will you marry me?"

"_A stór_!" Sam bellowed. "Hard a-port!" Squirrel turned back just in time to see a uniformed man rush at her. She spun on one foot, and planted a kick in his stomach that made him crumple. "Mind on the task at hand, missy!" Sam grinned as he rushed past. She stuck her tongue out at him, then glanced back to where Will and Elizabeth were standing, defending their small patch of deck, defending each other.

"I don't think now's the best time!"

"Now may be the only time!"

"Paddy!" Squirrel saw someone sneaking up on Sam, and lunged forward. He dropped to his knees as she leapt to his defence, only just dodging the blow aimed for him, and rolled quickly out of the way as Jones' crewmen collapsed with Squirrel's sword in his lung.

"Thanks," he said, clubbing the offender on the head so Squirrel could retrieve her sword.

"I can't be saving you every time," Squirrel said haughtily.

Sam winked at her. "Oh, but yeh knoo I would fer you."

"Barbossa!" Elizabeth shouted. "Marry us!"

Squirrel's eyes went to Barbossa, who stood at the helm fighting a man-eel, a pufferfish, and the same man-o-war Squirrel and Sam had dispatched earlier. "I'm a little busy at the moment!" Barbossa shouted back, before resuming his attacks.

"Squirrel!" Elizabeth blinked through the rain. "Be my bridesmaid!"

"I… " Squirrel nodded, wide-eyed. "A-alright!"

Will waved an arm. "Master Flynn? I need a best man!"

"Honoured, sir!" Sam grinned, bashing his way towards them. "Truly I am!"

Will nodded in gratitude, then turned and bellowed up at the helm. "Barbossa, now!"

"Fine then!" The captain climbed up into the pilot box, slicing and kicking his foes away, then put his hand on his heart. Elizabeth and Will stood together and looked up at him, waiting. "Dearly beloved," Barbossa shouted over the chaos, "We are gathered here today…" The pufferfish man lunged towards Barbossa's knees, "… T' nail yer gizzards t' the mast, ye poxy cur!"

Squirrel dodged sideways as a bullet whizzed past her ear. She turned and saw a misshapen man's grin turn to horrified rictus as he saw he'd missed. He barely had time to drop the pistol before Squirrel was on him, darting forwards and back with a blade in each hand, crippling him and sending black blood to cover the deck.

"Yeh know what a bridesmaid and best man were for?" Sam asked, as she joined him in beating back a pair of soldiers. "In times long gone, they were needed t' defend the bride and groom."

Squirrel grinned. "Then let's to our duty, shall we?" She slammed the hilt of her sword into a man's face as Sam kicked the second man's legs from out underneath him.

Will and Elizabeth ran around the mast, linking their free hands and meshing their fingers together. "Elizabeth Swann, do you take me for your husband?"

"I do!" Elizabeth laughed, eyes filled with happiness.

Will smiled back, eyes conveying more than could ever be said. "Great," he managed, grinning too much for words. They pulled apart for a moment to fight with those who attacked them.

"_A stór_!" Sam shouted.

"I _know_!" Squirrel shouted back, only just dodging the blow she hadn't seen coming. But she couldn't help but watch as Elizabeth and Will fought side-by-side. There was something so familiar about it, but she couldn't quite place why that was, or where she'd seen it before.

"Will Turner, do you take me," Elizabeth was saying, holding Will's hand as they spun and fought off enemies on port and starboard. They spun back to stand face to face, "… To be your wife…" They were attacked again, and with a flourishing spin, they switched sides, still holding hands. "… In sickness and in health…" Will's arm slipped around Elizabeth's waist, providing another blade and a blow that the enemy she fought wasn't prepared for. "… With health being the less likely?"

Will kicked their opponent down, stood back to back with Elizabeth, then turned and took her in his arms. "I do."

"A STÓR!"

Squirrel yelped and dropped down into a roll, barely missing the two bayonets and length of seaweed-encrusted chain that stabbed down where she'd been standing a moment before. "Sorry!" She said, joining Sam in fighting them off.

He gave her a playful scowl. "Yeh got t' peey better attention t' th' world around yeh!"

"I am!"

He rolled his eyes. "'Course yeh are…"

"As captain," Barbossa bellowed, parrying blows from the pufferfish on his left and a soldier on his right, "I now pronounce you…"

Squirrel spun her dagger, snagged a handful of throwing daggers with the few free fingers she had, and flung them over Sam's shoulder; they thudded into the back of a soldier, and he dropped, screaming. Barbossa was distracted, and Will and Elizabeth were preoccupied with their own battles. As Squirrel watched the lovers fighting together, it suddenly clicked in her mind. "Sam!"

"What?" Sam glanced around, hands tight around his bloody club.

"They're dancing!" She laughed. "Will and Lizzie! They're dancing together!"

The Irishman gave her a puzzled look. "If ye seey so, _a stór_."

Squirrel returned to the fray, grinning all the while. _My dream! Their happy ending! It's all coming together! _

"You may kiss…" Barbossa managed to get out, before drawing a pistol and shooting a man in the gut and giving a wicked cackle as he did so.

Will and Elizabeth were in each others' arms, about to kiss. An EITC man yelled as he charged them both; the lovers didn't even part to beat him down and aside.

Barbossa jumped down from the pilot box, kicking the writhing soldier aside. "You may kiss…" The pufferfish-man leapt in with a roar, and Barbossa was forced to battle him instead.

Will and Elizabeth had troubles of their own. They were parted, with Elizabeth fighting one of Jones' men while Will fought one of Beckett's men. When their opponents were felled, they turned back to each other, their swords crossing above each others' heads as though they'd meant to strike each other. Their eyes locked, and neither of them moved.

Squirrel felt a lightning bolt of tension strike the ship, and shivered. "Say 'you may kiss the bride'!" Squirrel shouted towards the helm, exasperated and grinning at the same time. "Say 'kiss the bride'!"

Barbossa finished off the pufferfish and the soldier at the same time, and whirled to shout over his shoulder. "Just kiss!" He turned back, and grabbed a sword from the fallen soldier, just as the eel-crewman charged him with a snarl.

The rain fell around them all. Elizabeth pulled Will's sword arm down, and they moved into each others' arms for that one last time, seeing nothing, knowing nothing but each other. Their whole world was each other. Squirrel felt time slow as she saw them kiss, just as they had in her dreams. The dancers that had come together, been pulled apart, come together again, turned away from each other, but now… But now they came together at last.

And they would not part again.

Squirrel watched, for a moment, smiling at them both. Caught up in the most romantic kiss ever, neither Will nor Elizabeth noticed the cannons booming, or the waves breaking over the side of the ship, or even the battle raging around them. The air had a feel to it of completeness, of all the things coming together just as they should.

_A happy ending for them, at long last._

Slowly, the cold rain woke Squirrel from her reverie. She sheathed both her weapons and went to the railing, stepping up and grabbing a rope.

"_A stór_!" She heard Sam shout. "What are yeh doin'?"

Squirrel looked across the distance, to where the _Dutchman_ loomed like an omen of death, and steadied herself. _My dream's not over yet. Still a little more to be done. _Up on the yardarm, Jack and Davy Jones were fighting, swords clashing._ Just a little bit more to be done_.

"_A stór_! Get down from there!"

_One last time, Captain Jack Sparrow. One last time, before my life ends, I'll come running to you. And then the dream will end as it should_.

"_A stór_! No!"

His hand grabbed hers as she swung out into space, but she slipped through his fingers and was lost to him. She didn't look back, but she knew what Sam's face looked like. That helpless kind of horror that comes with the realisation that there's nothing you can do.

"I'm sorry, Séamus," Squirrel murmured, the rain spearing down into her face, the hemp rope coarse in her grip, and the _Dutchman_ rushing towards her.

* * *

**A/N**: In the original draft, Squirrel does more than just threaten Will with bodily harm. Good to see she's matured a bit. More soon - as soon as I get these last two essays over and done with, the final chapters should come good and fast.


	30. Battle on the Dutchman

**Disclaimer**: You gotta fight for your right to PIRACY (bad song rip-off I sorry)

**A/N**: I apologise for my absence. Assignments and exams ate my spare time. Short chapter, but one of the hardest to write in a long time. Squirrel's song will be posted as a poem when this story is done, and I'll also put up a Youtube video of it sung, as well. I hope that more than makes up for my slacking off :P

* * *

It was madness and chaos. The wind and the waves and the sheeting rain clawed at her. She let go of the rope and staggered across the deck of the plague ship, drawing her sword even as she fought to maintain balance. Cannons roared, pistols barked, swords clattered and shrieked, men screamed and died and, above everything, the storm bellowed and lightning spilt the sky.

Despite all this, Squirrel felt utterly calm.

The _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ had reached each other now; face to face and cheek to cheek, as it were. Their masts tangled together, and both ships pulled and struggled for a moment before they settled into this strange embrace, even as they circled together around the maw to the abyss.

Squirrel glanced between the two ships a moment, wondering at this strange predicament, then heard a heavy thud behind her. She turned, and knew what she'd see.

The chest.

It had landed on a shell-headed crewman's shoulders, slamming his head down into his ribcage. Squirrel barely registered as the man toppled overboard. All she saw was the chest, and the monsters that were moving to intercept her, to prevent her from grabbing it, one stepping in front of her and one behind. She dropped to the deck, mule-kicking the face of the crewmen who thought he could surprise her from behind. As he snapped back, clutching his jaw, Squirrel used the momentum to flip herself up into a handstand, then fell forward into a crouch; she recovered her sword and her dagger and lunged forward and up, knocking the crewmen in front of her to the deck with both blades pinning him. He stared, goggle-eyed and unable to believe what he'd just seen, even as Squirrel pulled her weapons free and left him lying there.

Squirrel sheathed her dagger, grabbed up the chest and tucked it under her arm, leaving her sword arm free to slice at anyone who should come near. She glanced up, to the yardarm. Neither Jack nor Davy Jones were there. _Means they can be anywhere_, she thought, as she started to run across the sloping deck.

A few moments later, three of Jones' crewmen barred her way.

"That ain't yours, wench!"

Squirrel grinned and crowed with laughter. "I ain't been a wench in years!" Her sword danced through the air, even as she backed up, still gripping the chest tightly under one arm. The strange half-men advanced on her, wielding blades that looked somehow more fearsome because of the rust and the barnacles and the living anemones growing off them.

Squirrel faced them a moment, sword readied… and then took to her heels and ran. The three crewmen bellowed, and charged after her. Squirrel ducked and dodged between the combatants who were already locked in battle on the deck. She'd almost made it to the railing when a hand snaked out from the stairs and grabbed hold of her ankle. Squirrel screamed and tumbled, her sword and the chest both knocked from her hand. Frantically, she drew her dagger and stabbed at the hand that gripped her, then kicked and pushed herself towards her sword.

Someone leapt down beside her and scooped the chest up in his arms. Squirrel snarled through the rain, brandishing her weapons. But it was only Will.

"Squirrel?"

"Will!"

"Look out!"

Squirrel flipped over onto her back and kicked up, slamming both feet squarely into the crotches of two of Davy Jones' crewmen. They may have lost much of their humanity after signing onto the _Dutchman_, but there were still parts of them, at least, that were just as they'd always been. As they groaned and cringed, clutching at themselves, Squirrel pushed herself upright. As soon as she'd regained her balance, she kicked both of the attackers into the hold.

She looked to Will and the chest he held, wiping rain from her eyes. "Get that to Jack! Quickly!"

"Alright!" Will said, turning to go. He hesitated. "Where is he?"

"I don't know!"

Squirrel fought the third crewman who'd chased her, while Will hurried off. Squirrel parried with her sword, and stabbed out with her dagger, then switched techniques, skewering the half-man in her sword and blocking his blows with her dagger. She kicked him down into the hold on top of the two who were already down there.

"Turner!"

Squirrel turned to see the shark-man raising his axe to slice Will in two. Will dodged, a motion Squirrel recognised as one he'd learned from her, and tried to keep running. Over the cannon roar, Squirrel heard a growing shriek; a ball of black and white fury blazed across the ocean and latched onto the shark man's head, scratching and biting and allowing Will the chance to escape.

"Thankyou, Jack," he grinned, as he danced out of the way.

Squirrel grinned as well, and leapt across to the main deck. "Jack!" She shouted, looking for the man who shared the monkey's name, fighting or dodging whoever crossed her path as the situation called for it. "Jack! We've got the chest! Where are you? Jack! J…"

Squirrel felt a chill go down her spine. Davy Jones stood not a foot from her, eyes burning and his tentacled beard writhing. There was a sword in his hand, and it was red with blood. Squirrel saw a dying man in uniform behind him; Jones had just killed him with the same sword he held. Callous, cruel, unfeeling. Squirrel looked to Davy Jones in horror.

"I remember you," Jones said, head twitching and crab claw flexing. "You were the lass aboard the _Black Pearl_!"

Squirrel stared a moment, terrified. And then she grinned, curtsied, and then threw herself at the old sea captain, both blades held before her. Jones gave a woof of surprise at the suddenness and boldness of her attack, and was briefly driven back. But he blocked her thrusts, both the sword and the dagger. And now she was too close. Close enough to smell the decay on his skin. Close enough to feel the barnacles and seaweed growing on his coat. Close enough to see the look in his eyes for more than what it was.

"Dance with me!" Squirrel shouted, leaping back and tapping her feet on the deck, blades held over her head like a dervish. "Dance with me, Cap'n Jones!"

He snarled at her. "I'll not be mocked!" And he charged.

Squirrel found herself on the offensive, crying out every time Jones' blade carved through the air towards her. Her arms shook every time she blocked his blows, and he was pushing her, making her retreat further and further back towards the helm. He was strong, too strong. He wasn't bothered by the rain, or the waves, or even slowed down by the peg leg he had. He moved just as sure as the tide.

Squirrel grinned to hide her fear. "You fight pretty good for an old man!" She sliced across his hand with her dagger, and grinned at his snarl of pain. Jones curled his lip disdainfully, and struck back. Squirrel cried out as his sword crashed against hers. Her legs crumpled under her, dropping her to her knees, as she struggled to keep his sword from slicing her. Jones grinned, and pushed harder and harder; Squirrel's arm shook under the pressure.

"Oi!"

And then Jones reeled sideways, and Squirrel let herself collapse. Jack dropped down out of the rigging and went to help Squirrel up.

"What did I say about getting into fights like this?" He scolded with merry eyes.

She looked at him, puzzled. "You never said anything of the sort…" She saw, behind him, at the rail, the chest, lying alone and abandoned. But there was no sign of Will. Alarmed, Squirrel turned her eyes across the ship, looking for him. And she saw him, caught in a fight with a man who, despite looking carved from coral and draped in seaweed, still looked like a man. A man with a face somehow familiar, even under the ocean growths.

"Is that Will's father?" Squirrel gasped. "Bootstrap?"

Jack nodded, grimly. "Seems me old mate ain't himself anymore." He glared at Jones. "I wonder who's to blame for that?"

Jones had recovered from Jack's kick to the head, and was facing the pair of them with murder in his eyes. "I'll see you in hell, Sparrow! And this time there'll be no escape!"

Jack shrugged. "If you're letting me take her with me," he jerked a thumb to indicate Squirrel, "We'll be out of there in no time." He grinned at her. She gave an unsteady smile back.

Jones sneered, advancing on them, sword readied. Squirrel readied both her sword and her dagger, despite the fact her arms shook and she was so afraid. But she was with Jack, so that gave her some measure of courage. Jack grinned, and drew his sword… And faltered.

His sword was nothing more than a hand's-length of broken steel, attached to a hilt.

Squirrel stared. "Jack… What?"

Jack stared too, sheepish remembrance in his eyes. Then he turned and fled, dropping the remainder of his weapon to the deck and flailing away. Squirrel ran with him, feeling terrified like she hadn't in years.

Jack and Squirrel found themselves on the other side of a strange wheel set in the deck. Jack feinted, pretending to go one side around it; Jones matched him. Jack went the other way; so did Jones. Then Jones looks puzzled at himself, and pushed right through the wheel. Squirrel watched in horrified fascination as most of Jones vanished inside the timber. Jack leapt forward, spinning the wheel - and Jones - around. It was a delaying tactic that unfortunately failed to do any good. Jones stepped through with nonchalance, barely a foot from Jack. He paused a moment, then shouted "HAH", his beard writhing like a thousand snakes. Jack screamed and ran.

Squirrel lashed out with both her swords, her feet planted firm and her arms moving in the swooping motions of _tai qi_. Jones reeled back, surprised, giving both Squirrel and Jack a moment to regroup.

"You shouldn't even be here!" Jack shouted at her, taking the sword from her grip and arming himself.

"Well, you were taking too long!" She snapped back. "You see what's happened to my ship?" She gestured to the _Pearl_ as the ship received yet another cannon volley.

Jack winced at the damage, then raised an eyebrow at Squirrel. "_Your_ ship?"

"Enough!" Jones snarled, wiping inky blood from his face. "Jack Sparrow, you and me finish this here and now!"

Jack looked at Jones, then glanced at Squirrel. His face was serious, but even he managed to give a wink as he hooked his elbow slightly. Squirrel understood immediately, and switched her dagger to her other hand. Jones stomped across the rain towards them both. Working as a team, Jack dug his heels into the deck, and turned sideways as Squirrel jumped, linking her arm through Jack's and letting him spin her through the air. Just as they had in their swordfighting lesson back on the _Pearl_.

Jones cried out, surprised, as Squirrel's kick clipped his shoulder, knocking him sideways a little. The second time, he dodged Squirrel's feet and dagger, but not the sword Jack had prepared, and snarled as Jack sliced a line across Jones' midsection. The third time…

Squirrel read his motions and knew too late what was happening. But she couldn't avoid it. There was no changing what she knew had to happen to her. She'd known since the moment she'd decided to join Jack Sparrow that this was the way her life would end.

Jones' claw snapped out and caught Squirrel by the ankle. He pulled, throwing Jack off-balance and leaving Squirrel hanging upside-down in his grip. She screamed and stabbed sideways, but Jones just laughed at her feeble attempts to slice his stomach open.

Jack stared, wide-eyed and frantic, Squirrel's sword still held in his grip. "Squirrel!"

Jones grinned cruelly. "Would ye like her back, Sparrow? Here!"

Squirrel screamed as Jones swung her at Jack like an oversized club. She cringed, trying to protect herself and Jack, trying to dodge him so that she wasn't used as a weapon against him. But her shoulder smacked him across the head with such force that the pirate was thrown to the deck, to lie there in the rain, unconscious.

"JACK!"

Jones laughed, still holding Squirrel by the ankle. His grip tightened, and he looked thoughtfully down at her. "Now, what to do with you, then?" There was a glint in his eyes that she'd seen before, in her uncle and cousin's eyes. A glint that spoke of torture and suffering.

"You BASTARD!" She flailed, trying to get free. The blood was rushing to her head, and the rain was starting to choke her. She swung upwards and forward, straining forward to reach Jones' arm, and stabbed hard at his crab claw, right between the chitinous joints. Jones roared, and dropped her.

Squirrel landed on her spine, and cried out. But there was no time for self-pity, or even to take into account the pain. She skidded backwards, pushing with her feet like a land-bound squid, trying to get away from Jones but not having the time to get to her feet because he was bearing down at her with murder in his eyes…

Squirrel hauled herself backwards, sobbing and wordlessly pleading for mercy, mercy she knew she wasn't going to receive. Jones wrenched the dagger out of his claw and readied it in his human hand, even as he slowly bore down on her. She scrabbled frantically, but every inch of progress she made away from him, he was able to match with a single step.

Squirrel bunched her legs under herself, ready for one last push, a leap to freedom.

Jones grinned, and brought the dagger down.

Squirrel's scream petered out to nothing, even as she slumped against the railing. She stared, dumbfounded, at the dagger hilt. It was buried all the way into her flesh. Blood seeped out from around the blade, bright crimson, but slowly being watered down and washed away with the rain. Her clothes, already stained dark from the water, darkened further in a slowly spreading patch of red. She stared, even the sobs dying away, as she felt her life leaving her, drop by drop.

The dagger had pierced her thigh, right over the vein. If she hadn't leapt backwards, it would have been in her heart. Either way, she wasn't going to last long.

"Missed," Jones said bitterly, standing upright. He loomed over Squirrel, retrieved his sword and held it at the ready. He levelled the blade at her throat.

Squirrel let him. That strange sense of calmness she'd had descended on her again, like a cloak wrapping around her. She stared at the dagger buried in her leg a moment longer, then looked up at Jones, waiting for the end to come. _I always knew… it was my fate to die at sea… To die following Jack Sparrow… To die… to die… like this..._

Jones pressed the blade against Squirrel's throat. Then he smiled. It was a cruel smile, a smile of a broken man who broke others to forget his own pain.

"If you're still breathin' by the time I'm done with Sparrow," he said, backing away from her, "I'll bring you back his head. T' keep yeh company while you die." And he turned his back on her, and left her bleeding in the rain.


	31. Victory

**Disclaimer**: The King and his Queen lie asleep on their bed…

**A/N**: Not long to go now. Thankyou for being patient with me.

* * *

She still felt calm. Her heart wasn't fluttering like a trapped bird; it kept a slow, steady rhythm, like the murmuring of a mother to a child about to fall into sleep. Squirrel stared at the dagger buried in her leg, at the blood that darkened her clothes. She had no fear. Nothing left to feel.

"_A STÓR_!"

She lifted her head as a familiar figure pushed through the rain towards her. Club in hand, the man who called himself Samuel Flynn was rushing to her, to kneel at her side.

"No…" He put his club down, to take her hand, to touch her leg, to have his hands wave indecisively and helplessly over her. "No, _a stór_, no…"

"Séamus…" She reached out to brush his face, trying to comfort him, trying to let him know it was alright. Trying to let him know she wasn't afraid anymore.

Sam looked at her, eyes filled with sadness, regret, guilt, pain. And then it was gone, as his whole face hardened with determination. "We're gettin' yew out o' here NOW." The Irishman scooped her up in his arms - carefully, and leaving the dagger where it was - and trudged towards the railing.

Squirrel felt that cool chill of calm still wrapped around her. She saw what Sam did not. The throwing daggers at her chest proved useful in driving opponents back or away, giving him time. Time enough to move her, but maybe not to save her. She didn't want to hope.

"Sam…"

Sam set her down, gently, by the railing. "I'll be right back," he told her. "Hold on. Hold on, _a stór_. Wait fer me." Then he drew his cudgel and beat back anyone and everyone who was near him with a savageness and ferocity that Squirrel had never seen before.

She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. It wasn't as loud as it had been, when she was younger, in love or afraid. The rain kept falling, washing over her, cold and soothing, washing away all that had been before. Squirrel took slow breaths, just as calm as she'd ever been, and feeling more and more calm by the second. She looked down at the dagger in her leg, at the wide dark stain across her left thigh. Her blood.

The world seemed to be moving so slowly, and the details were so clear now. Sam's fierce and angry face as he swung wildly at EITC men and Jones' crewmen alike. Will's gritted teeth in the desperation not to harm the father he'd sworn to save. Elizabeth, swinging though the rain to stand in front of Jones and challenge him with drawn blade and a biting quip…

_Elizabeth?_

"No…" Squirrel roused herself from the cool stupor that had covered her like a white sheet. She stared with wide eyes as Elizabeth crossed blades with the old sea captain, snarling through her flattened blonde hair. Squirrel shook her head again, pushing herself upright.

_Elizabeth, no! You were supposed to stay on the _Pearl_! You're supposed to have your happy ending! If you stay here Jones will kill you!_

As Squirrel planted her palms on the deck to sit up, she crushed something. Glancing down, Squirrel saw one of Jones' tentacles writhing between her fingers, still clutching the key. The key to the dead man's chest.

She looked up, and saw Jack across the other side of the deck staring at her, saw him staring at the key. There was no time to think. This was what they'd planned. There wasn't much time before everything went wrong.

Squirrel threw the key, and fearfully watched it fly until Jack snatched it out of the air and jammed it into the keyhole and turned it. She saw Jack's smile, saw his triumph, and was glad for him.

_This is what you've always wanted, Jack. God speed._

She laughed, softly… and then slumped back against the rail again, remembering, realising, knowing the calm and coolness she felt had nothing to do with the rain or the dream she'd had since she was a little girl. She was dying.

"It'll be alright in the end," she murmured, as Jack stood up with Jones' heart in one hand and the broken sword in the other. "It'll be…" She closed her eyes and sighed, "Alright…"

"_A stór_, hold this!"

Someone thrust a rope into her grip, and she dutifully closed her hand around it. She felt herself being lifted up into Sam's arms. Through her eyelids she saw Sam - a good man, despite his bastard Irish blood - grabbing more ropes from the railing and tying them around himself and Squirrel both. "Hold on," he told her, "Hold on, please."

Squirrel looked up at him, and smiled. "I don't think I can."

"Dammit!" He fixed his hold on her, carrying her like an oversized baby, "Don't yeh even dare think that, _a stór_, or so help me God, I will never forgive yeh!" Then the anger melted away, replaced by desperate concern. "Yeh stay with me, yeh hear me? Yeh stay with me…"

He stepped one foot up onto the railing, and paused. As one, Sam and Squirrel both looked back at the tableau taking place on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_. There stood Jack, calm and unflappable as ever, even when holding life and death in the palm of his hand. There was Will, prisoner under the tip of Jones' sword. There was Elizabeth, watching, helpless and wide-eyed, but still able to smile. Smile, and hope.

And Jones, who turned and committed the greatest cruelty that could ever have been done.

A loud long scream cut through the madness and the chaos of the ship. A woman's scream, of helplessness and grief and heartbreak all at once. Men stopped their fighting to turn and stare, to look at first at the woman who screamed then to see what would have prompted her to keep screaming. They saw Jack and Elizabeth, paralysed by this impossibility, paralysed by the sight of Jones' inhumanity. Time froze. Only Jones' sword moved, twisting and driving deeper into Will's chest. And the rain kept falling, cold as a broken heart.

Squirrel kept screaming. She couldn't stop. She couldn't stop.

A figure in black barrelled out of the rail and slammed into Jones, knocking him aside - Bootstrap Bill, arriving too late to save his son's life but not to exact his revenge for years of torment. Elizabeth scrabbled to Will's side, to cup his face in her hands; Jack stood alone, staring between the heart he held and the sword still sticking out of Will's chest, torn by indecision.

Sam turned away, stifling the screams of the woman in his arms; Squirrel pushed herself up to look over his shoulder, unable to tear her eyes from the scene. She could hear Will's heartbeat in her ears, just as she always had. She could feel his heartbeat. She could hear it die. Squirrel watched, still sobbing loudly, even as Sam climbed up onto the railing and balanced there, testing the ropes. She stared as Jack looked back at her, mournful dark eyes pleading for this to be undone, for something to make his choice easier.

But there was nothing Squirrel could do.

Jack looked back to Will, then briefly back to Squirrel, and gave a small nod. It was brief, nothing more than that. But in that instant, Squirrel saw everything. Everything that had ever been, all coming down to this point in time. Every instant, every minor incident, was history. And even as Jack went to kneel at Will's side, she knew what Jack was going to do. She knew how the story was going to end.

It was going to end just as it had years ago.

"No," Squirrel moaned, the only word she could form between the screams and the sobbing. "No…"

"Hold tight," Sam murmured, "We're goin' now." And he leapt out into space.

Squirrel clung to Sam and to the ropes, eyes never leaving the three figures who knelt on the deck of the _Dutchman_, even as her eyes filled anew with tears, even as the sight of Will, Elizabeth and Jack vanished due to angle and distance.

But she saw - she thought she saw - Jack place the knife in Will's still hand.

Sam's feet barely touched the deck of the _Pearl_ before he was shouting to what remained of the crew. "Needle 'n thread! Bandages! Hurry!" Squirrel saw a circle of faces above and around her as Sam lay her down on the deck. "_A stór_, you breathe deep, a'right? I'm going to patch yeh up."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, hurrying over, "Where be Jack, Elizabeth and Will?"

Sam closed his eyes and sighed wearily. "Will's dead."

"No!" Squirrel struggled to sit up. "He's not! He's not dead!"

Sam gently pushed her back down flat against the timber. "I'm sorry, _a stór_. I know he was like a brother t' yeh. But he's gone."

"Turner? Dead?"

"'at's impossible…"

"He's dead?"

"No," Squirrel whimpered, tears still streaming from her eyes. "No, he's not. He's not…"

Barbossa's voice carved through the rain and the boom of cannons. "Make quick, or it's the Locker for us all!" There was a single cannonshot, louder than the rest, and the sound of splintering timber. Then the sky and the angle of the deck both changed as the _Pearl_ veered to safer waters.

As Barbossa bellowed orders for the _Pearl_ to veer away from the maelstrom, Sam gave orders for those around him to pin Squirrel's arms and legs. He drew his own knife and started cutting at the cloth of Squirrel's pants, around where the dagger was still buried in her flesh. "And hold her tight," he added to the men, readying needle and thread. He brushed his hand along the side of Squirrel's face. "Breathe deep, _a stór_."

Many hands pressed down on her limbs, immobilising her. "He's not dead," Squirrel wept, trying to get them to understand, "William's not dead…" Someone put a belaying pin lengthways between her teeth, stifling her words.

Sam looked at her, apologetically. "This is going to hurt, _a stór_. Forgive me." Then, in a swift motion, he pulled the dagger free with one hand, pushed the cut cloth aside, and stabbed into her skin with a needle. Squirrel screamed through the belaying pin, trying to struggle, but the men held her down and held her firm. Sam grit his teeth and sewed as quickly as he could, each stab of the needle into Squirrel's skin paining him as much as it hurt her. Blood seeped through his fingers and through the gaping wound in her leg; she was surprised she even had that much left in her. She would have fainted long before, if it weren't for the pain.

Sam finished sewing Squirrel's wound as quickly as he could, bandaging over the stitching and murmuring soothing words to try and calm her. But Squirrel couldn't hear him. All she heard was the silence. The silence that had for a moment before been filled with the dying sound of William's heartbeat. When the men released her, she struggled to her feet, keeping her weight off her left leg. She stared out at the ocean, watching as the _Dutchman_ vanished below the sea, swallowed up into the maw of the whirlpool.

As the ship sank beneath the waves, and the storm calmed. The clouds vanished, the sun came out, and the sea softened to a gentle blue.

"Come, _a stór_," Sam murmured, "Let's get you lyin' down til you're well…"

"YOU FUCKING WHORE!"

Squirrel shouldered Sam aside and limped awkwardly to the railing, eyes burning with hot tears, burning her already-raw throat as she screeched obscenities of every shade and hue over the open water.

"WHY?" Squirrel screamed. "WHY WILLIAM?" But she already knew why. She _knew_. Tia wanted a happy ending, the one she and Jones had long been denied. But they could never have it. Not as they were. They needed someone to take their places, so they could start anew, to give it another chance. There had to be a sacrifice, a cost… but not for them; of course not! Why should they be made to pay for their own mistakes? "But Elizabeth and William…" Squirrel wailed and cried even as she swore and vented her venom at the unfeeling, uncaring ocean. "They were happy! They were… They were finally…" She swore again, calling Jones a bastard, calling Tia a whore, calling them Jezebel and Ahab, and everything else she could think of. Hot tears rolled down her face as she raged. It did little good. The water was calm, and stayed that way.

As she paused to take a shuddering breath, Squirrel felt someone come up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Ye could peel paint with that language of yours," Barbossa said, gently.

She turned and collapsed into his arms, sobbing, and weak, and utterly despairing. Barbossa held her, as though she were a child, supporting her until her wails tapered into silent weeping. "Shh, lass… Easy…" He rubbed her back. "Steady there…"

Squirrel closed her eyes and gave a shuddering sob. She tried to tell him, tried to form the words 'he's not dead'. Barbossa needed to know. They all needed to know, to understand. But she didn't have the strength for that. She barely even had the strength to stand.

Sam stepped forward, and Barbossa gently passed Squirrel into his arms. "I'll leave this duty t' ye, Master Flynn."

Sam picked Squirrel up in his arms and carried her across the deck. "I'm sorry, _a stór_. Truly, I am. Mister Turner was a good man." He set Squirrel down on the stairs by the helm-wheel. "And a true friend." He gave a sad smile.

"He's not dead," Squirrel whispered, leaning her head against the banister. "He's not…"

Sam shook his head, sighing. "No, _a stór_. Stop it. He's gone."

Squirrel bowed her head and closed her eyes. She'd no reason to think he was alive. She couldn't even hear Will's heartbeat anymore. And perhaps she'd only dreamed of what she thought she saw before Sam had saved her. Maybe it was all a dream; a horrible nightmare. But she couldn't believe that. She couldn't.

"But they… the happy ending…"

"_A stór_, I'm sorry."

"Hard-a-port!" Barbossa bellowed, his voice faint and distant to Squirrel's ears. "Let's get 'em out o' the sea before Lady Calypso thinks t' remember us all!"

Sam uncorked a glass bottle and pressed it to Squirrel's lips. "Drink," he told her.

Squirrel sipped, then feebly tried to push it away. It was rum. _Of all the times to drown my sorrows… This, I don't want. I swore I'd never get drunk again… I swore…_

Sam gripped her by the wrist. "_A stór_, enough!" He looked at her with a fierce, stern look on his face. "Yeh've lost too much blood t'day. If you don't put somethin' in yeh veins right now, yeh won't be alive t' see the next mornin'. So drink!" His face softened, and Squirrel saw the fear in his eyes. "Please."

Squirrel drank while Sam held the bottle to her lips. She felt lost, drifting, broken. She had no idea how much time passed before she had drained the bottle, and was pushing herself to her feet despite the shaking fatigue that wracked her, or Sam's insistent objections that she should either lay where she was or go below to rest. She stood, leaning heavily on the banister, watching as both Jack and Elizabeth came aboard, and the crew flocked to the pirate captain for advice and guidance.

Elizabeth drifted alone, like a pale ghost.

Squirrel stepped towards the woman - her sister, in bond and in loss. They stared at each other a moment, silent and wan. Neither of them had any more tears left to cry.

"Elizabeth…"

"Squirrel…"

The two women clasped hands, seeking comfort with the barest of touches; they both knew each other's pain. But the moment was brief, because both woman looked out again, over the water, where the armada of Beckett's vessels waited, unscathed and ready for battle. With the _Endeavour_ bearing down on them, crossing the distance, white sails puffed out like a pigeon's chest.

"You ladies should get below," Sam said gently.

"No," they said in unison, moving to the port-side railing to watch the ship's approach.

"I think it's time we embraced that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions," Gibbs was saying, gesturing that they flee.

Jack stared out at nothing, a small smile, with faint hints of insanity around the edges, playing about his lips. "Never actually been one for tradition," he said. He glanced over to Squirrel and Elizabeth, and gave them a small - but definite - grin, then stepped up to the railing and smiled out at the sea. "Close haul her!" He shouted, turning back and swaggering across the deck. "Luff the sails and lay her in irons!"

"Belay that!" Barbossa shouted. "Or we'll be a sitting duck!"

"Belay that 'belay that'," Jack shouted at him, right in the pirate's face.

Gibbs tried to interject. "But cap'n…"

"Belay!"

"But, the armada…"

"Belay! Stow!"

"The arma…"

"Shut it!" Jack marched imperiously away from the group, headed for the helm, hands limp from the wrists. Barbossa sighed heavily and went to the starboard side, to watch with a scowl as the _Endeavour_ sailed ever closer. The rest of the crew hurried to their tasks; then they, too, went to the starboard side to watch.

Squirrel watched Jack as he walked right by her, feeling, for the first time since this battle had begun, the stirring of an unlikely but familiar feeling of impossible-to-explain hope. _He knows something_. Squirrel looked out over the water, heart clamouring in her throat forcing out the words in a whisper. "He's not dead…" Elizabeth looked to Squirrel, startled; within an instant, she, too was infected with that same hope, and her eyes flickered everywhere over the water, her neck craning as she fought to see over the heads of the crew. They didn't have long to wait.

The _Dutchman_ burst from the surface of the water, still slime- and barnacle-covered as it had always been. And yet Squirrel gasped not from fear when she saw it emerge; not this time. The ship looked like it was breaking apart, and yet it was much healthier for it. Sharp, fanglike protrusions of timber dropped into the sea, curtains of seaweed slid away, grime and uncleanliness was washed free by the force of the water, all to reveal fresh white paint, golden ornamentation and crisp grey sails.

"That…" Squirrel could barely breathe, "That looks like…"

"A knight in shining armour," Elizabeth joined in, their voices mingling together like a song. A song which surged and grew and trilled through the air.

"Full canvas!" Jack shouted from the helm, with a wide, crazy grin.

"Aye!" Barbossa seconded. "Full canvas!" The ship exploded into life as the crew caught on, and the black sails of the _Pearl_ filled with air and charged forward to meet the _Dutchman_, and the _Dutchman_ raced to meet her.

"He's not dead!" Squirrel sobbed and laughed at the same time, hugging Elizabeth. "He's not dead!"

The _Pearl_ turned to starboard, and the _Dutchman_ turned to port. The two ships sailed side-by-side, bearing down on the _Endeavour_. Squirrel and Elizabeth stood where they were, watching as Beckett's ship grew ever closer, watched as the crew aboard floundered in indecision and dithered in fear. It didn't seem like anyone was giving orders.

"Fire," Jack said, grinning.

"FIRE!" shouted Gibbs.

"FIRE!" shouted Barbossa.

"FIRE ALL!" Squirrel and Elizabeth shouted together.

Cannons boomed from both ships, while the _Endeavour_ sailed past, bewildered as a drunk and just as helpless. Men dived overboard as smoke-flowers bloomed and cannonballs ripped into the timbers and threw everything into disarray. The voices of the _Pearl_ raised in a raucous battle roar, a cheer of triumph. Only Elizabeth and Squirrel were quiet, the former having eyes only for a single figure on the _Dutchman_.

"Lord Cutler Beckett," Squirrel murmured, catching sight of a figure by the helm of the _Endeavour_, staring out into nothing as his ship was destroyed and his men abandoned him, "_Au revoir_." It wasn't a vengeful farewell, or an angry one, or even a bitter one. It was a goodbye, pure and simple; a song for the pitiable king of a dead empire.

The powder magazine ignited, and the deck was covered in a blossom of flame. Squirrel shielded her eyes from the glare. By the time she looked back, the _Endeavour_ was sinking below the waves, and the _Dutchman_ and the _Pearl_ had passed her; Beckett's armada was fleeing, dropping their flags and turning tail as fast as they could.

"They're givin' up!" Marty shouted from the rigging. The crew cheered, raising arms and weapons and shouts all three. Some even burst into a dance; others threw their hats high into the air.

"Yes! Hah hah!" Sam pumped his fist, then suddenly gathered Squirrel up into his arms and kissed her passionately. A few seconds into the kiss, he pushed himself back, startled and going pale. "Ah, I… _A stór_… That is to say, Miss Grey, I had… I dinae mean t'… In the heat of the moment, I suppose, I…"

Squirrel smiled indulgently at him, blushing a lively shade of pink. "Shut up, paddy," she told him, and pressed her lips back to his, stifling any and all protests. The Irishman was startled, but certainly not displeased; within a few seconds, he gave up trying to speak, and focused instead on what he should have done months ago.

All around her was the sound of cheering; from across the waves came the sound of the Brethren Court cheering the victory of the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_, and the freedom that had been won. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered… nothing but the man in Squirrel's arms. He held her, strong and steady and sure, wearing her blood on his clothes and breathing in every atom of her, just as she breathed in him. He was solid as a well-made ship, and one that could and would brave any and all storms. Her head was spinning, and not just from the rum. She felt his heartbeat though her breast, felt the heat of his skin as he wrapped his arms around her felt his love for her in the very song of the air around them. And for the first time in her life, Squirrel wanted her story to end right then and there, just so she could be 'happily ever after' in that single moment, forever.

Then something hit her on the side of her head, and she was forced to break away from both her dream and her embrace with Sam.

The Irishman gingerly released Squirrel from his arms, and knelt down to pick up the hat that had hit them both. Squirrel recognised the hat, and looked up to the helm, where Jack stood, rubbing one hand against the wood of the helm-wheel. He glanced down to Squirrel, seemingly by accident. He smiled at her, nodding, not a hint of bitterness or sadness about him. She smiled fondly at Jack, blushing still. She mouthed the word _thankyou_; he gave a small shrug, a '_your loss, darling_' kind of gesture, in reply. She smiled, smothering laughter with her hand.

"Now," Sam grinned, having handed Jack's hat back to Gibbs. "Where were we?"

Squirrel laughed as she wrapped her arms back around Sam, and felt his arms close about her. "Shut up," she smiled, and pulled him back into her arms for another kiss.

But she remembered herself, after a while, and held Sam at bay. Together, they looked to the helm, where Elizabeth now stood, looking across the water to the _Dutchman_; where, across the water, Will was similarly leaning on the railing, staring across at his wife. Squirrel felt her heart ache in her chest for them both, and closed her eyes with a sad sigh.

"Sam?" She looked deep into his hazel eyes. "Could you fetch something from my sea-chest for me, please?" She described it, and Sam gently let her free from his embrace and slowly went below. When he was gone, Squirrel reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny jade dragon - the stopper from the bottle Tia had given her, long ago; the same bottle she'd filled with sand and returned to the woman; the same bottle that had broken at her feet when the woman became the sea once again. Squirrel palmed the cold green stone, biting her lip in thought.

_For a woman to be strong enough to hold onto what she has_, she remembered her own words from the temple in Singapore, _She must become more than what she ever should be_… Squirrel glanced up at Elizabeth, then pocketed the tiny gem, knowing it would be an insult to give such a thing. _But it takes even __greater__ strength to be able to let something go… Especially if you have to let go of someone you love. _She limped forward until she was at the banisters, and knew she couldn't climb the stairs to go her sister's side, not as injured as she was. So she took a breath, and waited until Sam returned, trying to find the right words to say.

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**A/N**: Only a few chapters left. Thanks for reading this far!


	32. I Love Weddings

**Disclaimer**: Don't eat me. Don't eat me. I taste like pigeon.

**A/N**: Sorry for the delay. Essays and exams and a whole bunch of personal stuff tried to kill me. Last few chapters from here!

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"Elizabeth?"

The blonde woman didn't take her eyes from Will. "Yes?" Her heartache was palpable, almost colouring the air around her.

Squirrel grit her teeth and limped up the stairs, leaning on the railing to keep from putting pressure on her wounded leg. She felt faint from the loss of blood, but the adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through her veins, and Sam's kisses still lingered, giving her energy enough. She pushed up the stairs, and limped over to where Elizabeth stood.

And she said nothing. Just stood with her. Letting her presence be enough.

After a long moment, faint words were breathed from the young woman's lips. "He did the right thing. He saved us all."

Squirrel looked over the water, to where Will was standing, then back to Elizabeth. "Yes. He's a bloody hero." She smiled faintly. "And I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Elizabeth focused on Squirrel for a moment.

Squirrel sighed sadly, meeting the woman's gaze. "For… for this. Ten years is a high price to pay. After all this time… You have to be apart again. It isn't fair." She sighed again. "It's right. But it isn't fair."

This time, it was Elizabeth who was able to smile. "I've waited years already for this. To be married to Will." She looked back across to him. "After tonight… I can still wait."

Squirrel gripped the railing and closed her eyes. "But it shouldn't be this way, Elizabeth. You were happy, both of you. You had the life I dreamed of. And at the very last moment…" She gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. "I should have stabbed the heart."

"No." There was a steely strength in the woman's voice. "No, you couldn't have. If you did, you never would have been freed."

Squirrel bowed her head as she remembered. Ten years at sea, to return to one's true love at the end of it. And who would there have been? Jack? Though Squirrel had loved him with a passion, he didn't share that same passion for her. She hadn't known until only a few moments ago that she loved Sam, though she'd known since Cape Horn that he loved her. Even if Sam had loved her, Squirrel hadn't loved him. She would have drifted for eternity, miserable forever.

_And what of Jack? If he'd stabbed the heart?_ That had been his plan. The one thing to save them all… And Squirrel remembered. The letters of marque that Beckett had offered once, on a bright sunny day long ago, back when the cloud of a threat was not more than a shadow over their heads. Jack had refused them, because freedom was more important to him than anything. The heart would have been just another commission, just as those letters had been. Despite his good intentions - though, were they really? - Jack would not have been able to pay the price. Freedom with strings attached was not freedom at all, in his mind.

"It was meant to be this way," Elizabeth said faintly, looking across at Will. "This was the only way…"

"For the story to end as it should," Squirrel finished, also looking across to Captain Turner, "With a happy ending."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, with a sigh like a wave crashing on the shore, "Eventually."

Squirrel felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Sam waiting with a small pouch in his hand. He smiled, reassuringly, at her, and just as much at Elizabeth, who was staring across to the other vessel.

"Elizabeth?" Squirrel took the pouch from Sam. "I have something for you."

The young woman slowly wrenched her eyes away from Will, and turned to face the two of them. Squirrel presented her with the pouch. Curious, Elizabeth opened it, and a collection of nuts fell into her open palm - almonds, walnuts, pistachios, peanuts…

"I know it's more traditional to make a cake," Squirrel joked, "But it doesn't look like there'll be much time between now and the honeymoon…"

Elizabeth looked up at Squirrel with eyes glistening with tears. "Thankyou," she breathed, barely able to control the sobs.

Squirrel gave her a hug. "The least I could do for you, after all that I never did."

"The Brethren are leavin' yeh a few presents as well," Sam added, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "Droppin' a few crates and whatnot fer yeh both." Both women turned, craning to look. Most of the Brethren Court were gone, chasing what was left of the Armada over the horizon, but a few longboats were shuttling back and forth between the island. It was the least they could do, to make the place liveable if their King was to be staying there for a good long time.

"Looks like the Pirate King doesn't get to live on Shipwreck Island," Squirrel noted wryly.

"Close enough, though," the Irishman countered. "Just an hour or so's rowing."

"I intend to wait for Will," Elizabeth said, voice steady and her jaw set. "I'm going to wait for my husband."

Sam smiled. "Best not keep him waiting, then, aye?"

"Your chariot awaits, your Highness," Gibbs said, appearing on the stairway, gesturing over his shoulder to where a lifeboat waited. His brief moment of cheerfulness faded, and he added, "The oars are inside."

"I suppose this is goodbye," Elizabeth murmured, tying Squirrel's present to her belt, then hugging her sister again.

Squirrel shook her head. "I'll come visit you."

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow. "Just you?"

Squirrel shrugged, snaking her fingers to link with Sam's. "Maybe, maybe not."

The Irishman made a small bow to Elizabeth, still holding tight to Squirrel's hand. "God be wit' yeh, Elizabeth. You and your man both."

Elizabeth smiled faintly, looked one last time over to the _Dutchman_, then drummed her hands on the railing and walked steadily down to the deck, where the crew were lined respectfully up to let her pass. Squirrel and Sam stood up at the railing and watched Elizabeth run a fond but sad gauntlet of friends. Barbossa dipped his head and burred, "Mrs Turner," earning himself a small wry smile; Ragetti tugged his forelock; Pintel bid her a fond farewell; two crewmen Squirrel had never seen before tipped their hat or nodded in recognition of the blonde woman as she passed.

Finally, Elizabeth reached the railing, where Jack was waiting, standing nonchalantly and staring down at his shoes by the lifeboat's mooring line. He glanced up, and Squirrel had to smile at the look on his face.

"Jack," Elizabeth sounded somewhat mocking, even as she was serious and poker-faced, "It never would have worked out between us."

The inveterate pirate smiled at her. "Keep tellin' yourself that, darling." Elizabeth made to kiss him, and Jack held up his hands to ward her off. "Once was quite enough."

Squirrel chuckled to herself.

Elizabeth spoke again to Jack, something that was meant for his ears only, then climbed into the boat. Jack himself released the lines, and the crew crowded to the railing to watch as Elizabeth rowed her way over the noon-golden waters to the island.

Squirrel shaded her eyes against the glare, and saw a similar lifeboat being launched from the _Dutchman_. Though the boats took different routes, Squirrel's mind for numbers saw that both of the boats would reach the same beach at the same time.

Her eyes started to sting with tears.

"Right, you lot!" Jack bellowed, making everyone jump, "Enough gawking and standing around!"

"On yer feet and at yer posts!" Barbossa seconded, as the crew scurried to tidy up the ship, or to climb through the lines. "No slackin' here!"

"What kind of a weddin' would it be without a celebration!" Jack bawled.

Activity on the ship paused a moment, before raucous cheers broke out. Barrels and flasks and flagons were brought up from below, and every man served a measure, and then more so.

"Come on, _a stór_," Sam said, gathering Squirrel up in his arms, "Wouldn't want to miss out." He grinned as he carried her down the stairs, and set her down on a crate by the mast as he went to fetch drinks for them both.

"To the Pirate King and Captain Turner!" Barbossa yelled, raising his flagon, "May their time apart fly swiftly!"

"To William and Elizabeth Turner!" Jack shouted, raising his flagon higher, "Married at long bloody last!"

"To victory!" Gibbs yelled.

"Freedom!" Pintel whooped.

Squirrel raised her glass amidst the cheers. "To their happy ending!" Squirrel called out, and then burst into loud sobs.

Jack paused, the flagon halfway to his lips, and stared. "What? What's this? Luv, why are you…?"

"Ah, leave her be, Captain," Sam smiled carelessly. "She didn't get a chance to cry at the wedding."

Squirrel could feel all the eyes of the men on the ship staring at her, incredulously, but she couldn't stop weeping. "It-it-it-it's j-just so beautiful!" And it was. William and Elizabeth, together at long last… and dedicated enough to wait for each other over the test of time and trials like no-one had ever experienced before, save the ones who had failed in their duty previously. But Will and Elizabeth wouldn't fail. Their love was stronger than that. Their love would never die.

_Love is patient, love is kind; never jealous, boastful, proud, or rude; love isn't selfish or quick-tempered; it keeps no record of wrongs and loves the truth; it is always supportive, loyal, hopeful and trusting. Love will never fail_.

Jack rolled his eyes and swigged from his drink. "Women…"

* * *

The afternoon rolled on, with rum and vittles being consumed and a good time being had by all. For a wedding celebration, it wasn't half bad. Sam had sighed, and bemoaned the loss of his violin from when he'd been press-ganged on the _Diana_, but when Squirrel had pointed out she wasn't likely to be doing much dancing, the Irishman was happy enough to let it go. Squirrel had sat on her crate, drinking and eating and being merry with the others, while Sam had found some bandages and had helped patch her and her clothing up.

Eventually, as the shadows were getting longer and the light was beginning to fade from the sky, Jack wavered for silence. Not waved, but wavered, apparently having consumed more than his fair share of the potent alcohol. "Right!" He made sure all eyes were on him before he continued. "So, now what?" He gestured expansively, a bottle in one hand. "I mean, we beat the Armada! And we freed the sea!"

Barbossa flinched slightly at that, but kept his smile fixed in place.

"But!" Jack held up a finger, which was shaken back and forth in what might have been intended to be attention-getting but just seemed more uncertain than anything, "Where to now?"

The crew thought about this, though given the rum they'd had, it wasn't an easy task for them to focus.

"Let's go to Tortuga."

Everyone turned to stare at Squirrel.

She smiled. "Think about it," she said, pushing herself off her crate and limping over to stand beside Jack. "It's the last port Beckett wasn't able to conquer. It'll be the only free port left in the Caribbean, and, therefore, the best place to start telling the story of his demise." She glanced around at the crew, and smiled to herself. _No doubt there'll be several different versions of it_. "Not to mention the _Black Pearl_ needs to restock, repair, and resupply. Tortuga's good for that." She grinned. "And who says the wedding celebrations should end tonight?"

"Luv," Jack said, belched, apologised, and tried again. "Luv, it's Tortuga." He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"I know." Squirrel smiled at him, leaning on the railing to take the weight off her leg. "But why should I keep running?" She glanced out over the water. "Time I faced my fears, 'stead of letting them consume me."

Jack smiled proudly, and clapped her on the shoulder. "Brave girl."

"I learn from the best," she murmured.

"Tortuga bound, lads!" Jack raised his arms into the air. He didn't need to say much else - the whole ship scrambled to man their stations, even resorting to fighting each other for a place at the lines or pushing each other as they scrambled up into the sails. Even Jack ambled away, though more to claim abandoned bottles that weren't quite empty then out of duty as a captain.

Squirrel watched the chaos for a few minutes as it settled into order, then smiled to herself as she looked out over the water. She watched as the sun sank towards the sea, the bright light kissing the far horizon and turning the still waters into a sheet of gold. In a few moments it would be sunset.

_One day_, Squirrel thought. _One day was all they had… And now Elizabeth will be alone._ She took a breath. _A woman of the sea._ And yet, even as she thought this, she heard a song on the breeze. It was familiar - she'd heard it before. She'd heard it while Will spoke of his love for Elizabeth, while Elizabeth spoke of difficult choices, and while the two of them had danced during their wedding. This song was theirs. A song of love. A song which told a story with a happier ending than the song of Tia and Davy Jones ever did.

_Tia and Ana were both wrong,_ Squirrel realised, forcing away tears and sadness in order to smile. Women _of the sea don't end up alone. They may be alone for a time, but that's never how the story ends_. She closed her eyes briefly. Ten _years is a very long time, even for true love. But given William's integrity… he'll be back. He won't let you down, Lizzie. He'll be back for the heart he gave to you_.

Squirrel opened her eyes in order to watch the sun slowly sink below the waves. She caught her breath, fearing she wouldn't see it, but it was there nonetheless. The green flash, a beacon of light surging, blinking for one brief moment before being lost, fading like an illusion. For a moment in the green, Squirrel thought she saw the distant and faint image of a tall ship with sails at full bloom.

"Goodbye, Captain Turner," Squirrel whispered. "God be with you."

Over the breeze, Squirrel felt Elizabeth's heartache, and heard the thin woodwind sound on the breeze like a sigh.

"He'll be home soon, Lizzie," Squirrel breathed, barely audible even to herself. "Wait and see. You're not alone." She smiled. "Women of the sea aren't alone by the end."

* * *

**A/N**: Final chapter and epilogue to go. Thanks to everyone who's kept reading thus far.


	33. Plotting a New Course

**Disclaimer**: Spend three days lying on a beach drinking rum and all you get is a terrible hangover and a full-body sunburn.

**A/N**: Apologies it took so long. This is what happens when computers decide to destroy themselves and wipe their harddrives clean :)

* * *

Sam paused in his singing and Squirrel looked up from her sketches as a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Come in," Squirrel called, smoothing the blankets around her slightly.

Jack entered, pulling a face as he shut the door behind him. "Never had to knock on me own cabin door before."

"Your cabin, sir?" Sam kept an incredibly straight face. "T'was my understanding that Captain Barbossa were the one who let Miss Grey stay here, on account of her injury and all."

Squirrel pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at the look on Jack's face.

"I'm still the captain," Jack said, half-terse and half uncertain. He looked to Squirrel in appeal.

She could only shrug in reply. "Jack, this isn't something that I can help you sort out. You and Barbossa are going to have to discuss this like civilised gentlemen."

"It's my ship! He's got no right to…"

"We could always move her," Sam offered. "Though I doubt Miss Grey here's in any condition to climb stairs or ladders or the like." He paused, then scratched his chin. "Would be a mite unkind t' force her t' do that, wouldn't yeh say?"

"Barbossa was being very generous, wasn't he, Flynn?" Squirrel said absently, drawing a few more charcoal lines on the paper.

"Oh, aye," Sam nodded. "Quite the generous captain."

Jack interjected, petulantly. "I'm captain! It's my ship!"

Sam tilted his head. "So, yeh gon' let her stay in these quarters, or not?"

Jack flailed angrily for a few moments, then gave a grizzling sigh. "'S my ship," the pirate finished lamely. Then he sighed. "Well, she's already settled. Made herself comfortable and everything… She can stay. But she better keep everything exactly how I left it!" He shook a warning finger.

Squirrel smiled, and continued sketching. "Aye. Of course, Captain."

Jack nodded, looking the victor in an argument he wasn't certain if he'd won. After a moment, he started swinging his arms idly. "Luv, I was wonderin' if I might have a word?" When Squirrel looked up at him expectantly, Jack's eyes shifted sideways, to the man who was sitting on a chair beside the bed. "Alone?"

Squirrel frowned slightly. "Jack, what could you…"

"Ah, it's alright." Sam got to his feet, stretching slightly. "I need some fresh air anyways. 'Sides," he smiled at Squirrel, then at Jack, "I don't mind." He kissed Squirrel gently on the cheek before leaving, quietly closing the door behind him.

There was a heavy silence in the room for a moment. Squirrel kept her eyes on her sketches, drawing the same line a few times over. Jack started looking awkwardly around the room, just for something to focus on that wasn't Squirrel. He fiddled with the candlesticks and the charts on the table, drummed his hands on the table edge, twisted his braids between his fingers.

"You feelin' better?"

Squirrel nodded, eyes still on the charcoal and the papers in her hands. "A little. A good meal and a couple of day's decent rest, and I'm starting to get my strength back."

Jack found the crutches Sam had made for Squirrel, and picked them up from where they were leaning against the wall. "Good to hear."

Squirrel sighed heavily, setting the sketches aside and leaning back on the pile of pillows. "But look at me, Jack! I'm a bed-ridden invalid! Feeling better doesn't change the fact I can't dance or climb… or even walk!" She sighed again, pulling slightly at the blankets. "I feel useless." _I feel it, but I know I'm not_. The thought surprised her, a little; she smiled a little bit. _I'm not useless; that's just stupid talk_.

"Ah, cheer up," Jack said, the crutches under his arms, "You'll be stumping around in no time." He hiked up one knee and attempted to walk from one end of the room to the other using only one leg and the crutches. He wobbled and shook, and even sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth did nothing to improve his skills.

Squirrel raised an eyebrow. "'Stumping around'?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned at her, lost his balance, and quickly disentangled himself from the crutches before he collapsed. Calmly, with an air of a cat caught falling from a table, he set the crutches back against the wall where he'd found them, and stood at ease again. "Only one more day 'til Tortuga, you know."

"I know." Squirrel watched him, curiously. "Jack, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

He shrugged, and ambled over to stand at the foot of the bed. "It can wait." He smiled faintly. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

Squirrel smiled, trying not to squirm or blush under his eyes. She pretended to fluff up the pillows she was propped up by, and pulled at the blankets covering her. "I'm fine, Jack. My leg'll be better soon enough."

"That wasn't what I was asking," Jack said faintly, looking away again, fingers curling and uncurling in the air. "The whole thing… with Will…"

She looked down at her hands, which were folded in front of her. "Jack…." Squirrel sighed. "I'm going to miss him," she admitted. "And I feel sorry for Elizabeth, waiting all alone on that island, but…" She looked up at Jack. "But we both know that William Turner isn't a man to leave a task undone. He'll be back. He'll break the curse, and the story will be told as it should. No knight like that is ever going to leave his damsel unrescued." She smiled faintly.

Jack echoed her smile, nodding. "You always did have a way with words, luv."

Squirrel smiled back at him, saying nothing.

He frowned slightly, suspicious at the look on her face. "What?" He asked, as though he were being accused of something.

"You did a good thing, Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jack waved her compliment away, as though it were nothing worth mentioning.

"I mean that. You do have the tendency to be an honest-sight near to good, sometimes."

Jack looked at her, smirking. "Well, luv… I never said I was an honest pirate. Just a good one."

She laughed. "Of course." Her grin faded to a fond smile. "But you did do a good thing, Jack." A little bit of teasing crept back into her smile, though her words were serious. "And at such a cost. I'm sorry you're not immortal. You were so looking forward to that,"

He sighed, and shrugged, coming over to perch on the edge of the bed. "Well, at least I still have the _Pearl_, aye?"

"And you've still got your first love."

Jack tilted his head at her. "What, the sea?"

Squirrel shook her head. "No, not the sea. Freedom."

He gave a short laugh, and nodded, his eyes serious. "That I do, luv. That I do."

Squirrel looked at him, feeling the blood running hot through her veins at the look on his face. "You could have stabbed the heart, Jack."

"Nah. Wasn't worth it." Jack shook his head, eyes distant as he relived the moment. "What with young Turner dying and Elizabeth screaming, and the only thing that could save him resting in the palm of me hand?" He looked up at Squirrel. "I mean, would I have been able to live with that, forever? Knowing I could have saved him, but didn't?"

_Like father, like son_, Squirrel thought warmly. _Captain Teague, you should be proud of your boy_. She reached out and brushed her fingers along the side of his face. "You're a good man, Jack Sparrow." She tapped him on the end of the nose, and smiled. "Despite all evidence to the contrary."

"Hrm." Jack looked at her, mischief in his eyes and a cunning smile curving under his moustache. "So…" He drew a finger along Squirrel's forearm - the same arm where his handprint once coloured her skin - sending shivers up and down her spine, "Do I get a reward, then, for being so good?"

There it was again - the familiar taste of rum, the feeling of gold and bone against her tongue, and the warmth that could only come from him. Squirrel closed her eyes as her lips pressed against Jack's, and she felt him twine a hand through her hair and curl the other around her waist. She arched against his touch, arched towards him. He moved with her, even as she struggled to move into his arms from an awkward sitting position. He lay her back down on the bed, gently, moving to hover over her, his body pressed against hers, his hands light and certain and moving in a practised manner, while his lips moved from Squirrel's lips to her cheek to down the curve of her neck to her collarbone…

"Nnng!"

Squirrel flinched violently; Jack pulled back to see what was wrong. It only took him a moment to see the tears in her eyes, the grit of her teeth, and the way she gripped her left leg through the blankets.

"I always end up hurting you, don't I, luv?" He said hoarsely, as he slid back down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Sorry."

Squirrel managed to laugh through the pain, though she was still blushing furiously from their interrupted encounter. "Don't be. This… this wasn't your fault."

"I know," the pirate said carelessly, examining his nails while Squirrel checked her bandages. "But if it hadn't happened…" He looked at her, and raised a sardonic eyebrow, "How would have yon Irishman feel?" He tilted his head. "It's not like you to want to make someone else feel bad. I mean, it's like you to _want_ to feel guilty, but even this might be going a bit far."

Squirrel kept her guilty eyes down, blushing for another reason entirely. _With Jack so close, I completely forgot about Sam… After all this time, you would have thought I'd be over Jack, but… Well, I guess you never do forget your first love. Even if all it that it is is a burning desire, rather than love_. "I…" She sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Jack grinned, unperturbed. "There's not a woman alive can resist my charm, darlin'. I'm sure you'll be forgiven."

She raised an eyebrow at him, managing at last to get her heartbeat to return to its natural rhythm. "You're being uncharacteristically heroic today, Jack Sparrow. Being _my_ moral compass in a moment of _my_ weakness? Is the world coming to an end?"

"Frightening, isn't it?" Jack frowned to himself, jokingly. "I didn't know I had it in me." He shuddered. "This is what happens when you're a good man," he gestured, explaining, "You end up doing all sorts of things you regret." He pulled a face.

Squirrel laughed. "Next thing you know, you'll be a honest man. Or at the very least, an honest pirate."

"Heaven forbid!" Jack grinned, then went serious again. "But a kiss was more than enough, luv. More than I should have taken, even if you were willing to give it. After all, I've no claim to you." He glanced towards the door. "That Flynn's a lucky man."

Squirrel looked down at her hands again. "Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve someone like that."

"He makes you happy," Jack said simply. "That's what you need. And it's what you deserve, after all these years of tears and heartache."

She looked up at Jack, surprised by the emotion in his voice.

But already he was looking somewhere else, all nonchalance and devil-may-care. "An' I can just see you surrounded by hundreds of children, telling them stories about your days as a pirate."

Squirrel smiled to herself, and marvelled that she was able to picture herself as a wife and mother as easily as breathing. "And about the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow."

Jack sighed, looking sad and distant again. "Not quite the immortality I had in mind."

"Well, why not?" Squirrel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to be telling your stories until the day I die. That can be your immortality." She raised an eyebrow as he started looking sulky. "What's the matter? You're not happy with the endearing nature of legends?"

"Pssh!" He waved a hand dismissively. "What's the good of bein' in stories if you're not around to hear 'em told?" Thoughtful, he added, "Or be telling some of your own…"

She almost laughed, but the laughter was stifled. She'd caught sight of a strange glint in Jack's eye as he scanned the room again. "Captain Jack Sparrow… what have you got planned?"

Jack looked at her, opening his mouth to disagree. But his expression changed before he even got a word out. He paused, looking shrewd and thoughtful, biting his lip. Then he looked at her, eyes serious. "You've often vocalised your disagreement with my keeping secrets. So, just 'tween you and me, luv…" He lowered his voice and leaned towards her, "I'm still going to live forever."

"Short of killing William and taking his place on the _Dutchman_," Squirrel said flatly, "I can't think of any way you'd be able to."

Again, Jack waved a dismissive hand. "No, luv, no. You're looking at this all wrong. Why would I kill Captain Turner after I went to all the trouble of getting him made captain? That'd be stupid. Besides - you're right. I like my freedom far too much to be tied to a duty of any kind." He glanced around the room again, then back to a sceptical Squirrel. "See, you know those charts that Barbossa had?"

"Sao Feng's charts?" She frowned at him. "What about them?"

Jack looked at her, excitement burning in his eyes. "They lead to more places than just the Locker and back, luv. And there's more'n one way to live forever." He paused, waiting for her to figure it out, but impatience got the better of him. "The fountain of youth," he stage-whispered.

Squirrel raised an eyebrow, then remembered that time she'd examined the charts on the deck of the _Hai Peng_. The angel and the skeleton guarding the boldly-labelled chalice: AQUA DE VITA. Water of life. The fountain of youth.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Jack smirked at the dawn of understanding in her eyes.

Squirrel chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, Jack… Was _this_ what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Course!" Jack nodded excitedly, and looked around the room once more. "Now, seein' as old Hector isn't carrying them around on hisself, that means the charts have to be hidden somewhere."

"And you think they're in here?"

Jack gave her a withering look. "He thinks he's captain, luv. Where else would he store the maps? Besides, no-one's been in this room since you moved in, 'cept for the occasional visit from Samuel Flynn." The pirate's eyes sparkled merrily. "Means you could find the charts for me and keep 'em safe for me. Once we hit Tortuga, we'll drop Barbossa and a few of the crew - like the smelly one, and the scary bloke with one eye - restock, repair, and head off for glory and life everlasting! What do you say?"

Squirrel looked at him, thoughtfully. "You're asking if I'd come with you?"

Jack opened his mouth, paused, closed it, looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "Well, if you want. I mean, you could just as easy decide to leave the Irish lad, and come take to the seas with me." He did his best to look endearing. "I do enjoy your company, luv. You know that. And you're an invaluable member of the crew."

She pursed her lips, looking tempted, then shrugged. "I could never be immortal." Squirrel sighed. "I'd rather live a pirate's life, Jack - a short and a merry one. And there's been far too little merriment thus far." She looked down to her hands, blushing at the memory of the plans she and Flynn had made together. "You know, Sam wants…"

"It's up to you." Jack put his hand on hers. "It's always been up to you."

Squirrel looked down at his hand, then up at him. "If I did come with you… It wouldn't last." She gently retrieved her hand from his. "I don't know if…" She sighed. "I'm in love with Sam. I don't know if I could love you again. At least, not the way I did before. And Sam and I… together, we're…" She gestured, unable to find the words. "We're right together."

Jack nodded, and leaned back to shrug. "The thing about being one-of-a-kind, luv, is that one always is one of a kind."

"And you are truly one-of-a-kind." She smiled, then sighed. "I'll keep an eye out for the charts, Jack. But if Barbossa hid them, I doubt I'll find them. Especially when I'm in no fit state to go hunting around the whole cabin." She tapped her leg gently to prove her point.

But Jack grinned regardless. "Thanks, darlin'. I knew I could count on you." He glanced around again, and caught sight of the pile of sketches resting on the chair. "What're these?"

"Oh, they're just…" She shrugged. "Just drawings to pass the time." As Jack started leafing through them, she explained. "After I saw all the different flags of the Brethren Court, I thought it would be nice to have a flag of my own."

"What's this, a compass?" Jack held up one of the papers and squinted at it. "Or is it a coin and four of your little throwing knives?"

Squirrel touched the amulet at her throat out of reflex. "A little of both. Every flag has a story of its own, and… well, I was just drawing to find out what kind of flag would tell my own story." She ran her thumb over the bullet embedded in the centre of the silver coin. "I mean, I have my own piece of eight, so why not a flag?"

"I see," Jack smiled fondly at her, then squinted at the next page. "A skull? Is this part of your life I don't know about yet, luv?"

"Oh, that one's not for me. That's for you."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

Squirrel smiled, then leaned over to the table on the far side of the bed, where a small black cloth was folded. "It's been a boring few days just sitting in bed," she explained, grabbing the cloth and then settling back into the pillows. She passed Jack the cloth. "Sam brought me the paint and the cloth… it's nothing special, just a basic design. I'll finish it properly when we buy some decent cloth and paint…" She faltered into silence as Jack unfolded it, and stared in awe at it. "It's… not much now…"

"It's perfect," Jack said, tracing his fingers along the white of the skull and the red of the bird. "Can I keep this?"

"It's just a rough…" Squirrel stopped trying to offer excuses. The look on his face beggared the need for them. She smiled. "Sure. I _did_ make it for you. It's yours."

Jack smiled back. "Thanks, luv." He refolded the flag and tucked it into his belt. "Best present anyone could have gotten me."

Squirrel blushed modestly as Jack got to his feet and went to the door.

"I'll let Sam know his dear lady's honour is still intact," he said, hand on the doorknob. "But darlin'… you will look for the charts?"

"Absolutely." Squirrel held up one hand in pledge, and pressed the other to her heart. "I'll do my best."

Jack grinned. "Remember what I said, luv… You're free to choose what you do with your life."

"I know. And thankyou."

She watched him leave, smiling fondly even as he shut the door and was lost to her sight. She sat a few moment in silence, thoughtful. Then she reached around behind herself, to the pile of pillows that were stacked against the headboard, propping her upright. She felt around until her hand closed on something hard, and slowly - carefully - drew it out.

The polished segments of bamboo pressed into her hands, as though it were more than just the weight of the charts themselves that she held; as though she held the secret to cheating death. Squirrel undid the binding, and let the charts fall open in her lap. Manipulating the circles of oilskin until the lines and colours showed up an image of a dragon, Squirrel's eyes were drawn to the top right corner, where a collection of islands and the familiar image of the chalice, still guarded by the angel and the skeleton, stood plain to see.

_I did promise Hector I wouldn't let you find them, Jack_. She giggled to herself.

She smiled to herself as memorised the islands' labels, shapes, positions, then rolled the charts back up again. Carefully, she slid the cylinder of bamboo and oilskin back under the pillows, where she'd hidden them in the first place, and got herself comfortable again.

"We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs…"

Squirrel grinned to herself, and chewed her knuckles to keep from laughing out loud.

* * *

**A/N**: -EDIT- Sorry to those who read and reviewed for the other half of this chapter, but I figured I should make t a good round 35 chapters like most of my Squirrel stories thus far.


	34. A Ship My Size

**Disclaimer**: Devils and black sheep, really bad eggs…

**A/N**: Apologies if you think you've read the first half of this before…

* * *

It hadn't been all that difficult a decision, in the end. The sun was warm, and the vessel rocked like a cradle. Squirrel sighed in contentment from where she lay, face turned towards the warmth, eyes closed and a smile about her lips. The wind was good, and the seas were still, and she was happy.

This was the way it was meant to be. Not how she'd dreamt it, but somehow so much better.

It had been strange to walk Tortuga's streets again, and she wouldn't have been able to without Sam walking beside her, keeping pace with her, keeping an eye on her, and being the hero he was. She found where her parents were buried, and visited their graves. They weren't buried in the vicinity of the hypocrisy of the empty church, but further out; in a part of Tortuga that was calm and peaceful and overlooked the sea. Squirrel was grateful that someone had understood her father and mother enough to do that for them. Ivy twined over one of the graves, a rosebush grew out of the other; the two plants mingled and climbed an old stone wall together, reaching for the sky. Squirrel left nothing behind on the gravestones, seeing the symbols of the flowers as being more fitting a remembrance for her parents than anything else. But she did leave a few tears for the dead, and was glad to.

Squirrel moved slightly, adjusting the way she was lying on the timbers, getting a little more comfortable.

It hadn't been as bad as she'd thought it to be, walking those streets again. The darkness wasn't as close, the panic didn't claw at her, and the old spectres of the past loomed no longer. Tortuga was nothing more than a port city now, no different to any other. It was done, and over, and she could move on with her life. And not at anyone else's orders, either, or pressured by thoughts or nightmares or desires to impress.

Squirrel smiled to herself, and gave another contented sigh. This was freedom; this was the life she'd wanted. Around her, there was the creak of timber, the slap of the rope, the gentle promises hissed by the foam. And it hadn't been all that difficult a decision to make. After all, she was a woman of the sea, and where better to find the freedom to plot her own course?

This was the life she'd always dreamed of. And now she was free enough to claim it for her own.

"Sleeping?"

"Just dozing," Squirrel told the shadow that fell over her, smiling. "Resting my eyes."

He came and sat down beside her, and ran a hand through her hair. "I see."

"I'll be up in a minute," she told him, having no intentions to do so now that he was here beside her. As if to reinforce her opinion, she was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead. She giggled and reached up to pull his loving face down, so that his lips would meet hers. He obliged.

"I was…"

"Wondering how I'm feeling?" She looked up at him. "I'm fine, really." She gave a deep sigh. "It was hard, at the time, but I'm glad it's over. I feel free."

"I see."

"I do feel bad about Gibbs, though. I know we had to leave him behind, but still…"

"Mmm."

Sensing this wasn't enough, Squirrel started to sit up on the steps where she was lying, to turn and look her man in the eye. "What's wrong?"

"… This decision," he said slowly, as though measuring every word carefully, "Even a good decision, made for the wrong reasons, can be a bad decision…" He looked at Squirrel, hazel eyes filled with concern. "Are yeh sure this is what yeh want?"

She frowned at him, confused. "Sam?"

The Irishman shrugged, looking a little sad. "_A stór_, from since I've known yeh, and long before, yeh've always been in love with Cap'n Jack Sparrow. An' I'm wonderin' if, maybe, you only decided t' stay with me because… because I…" He gave up trying to complete the sentence, and tried a different tack. "I wasn't yeh first choice, _a stór_, I knoo that. I mean, I'm glad yeh're here now, but is it really what yeh want?

"Yes." she told him simply. "Time passed, and I grew up. I'm still fond of Jack, Sam, as much as you can be fond of a legend. But you can never be happy with someone who is little more than that."

"But yeh still think of him."

"Of course. He's been a large portion of my life." She turned and looked out to sea, the wind teasing her hair. "But on every course I charted with him, it always seemed to point me elsewhere." She smiled at the Irishman. "To you."

Sam looked away briefly, then back. He was smiling, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "But yeh miss him, don't yeh?"

"Of course I will." She smiled wryly. "He was a man worth telling stories about. But its high time I had a life of my own, rather than playing a shadow in someone else's tale." She sighed, contentedly. "The world's just the right size that I'll see him again, Sam. I've no doubt of that. But I'm done chasing after him. I've my own life to lead… and it's not chasing after him anymore." Squirrel reached up to stroke the side of the Irishman's face. "You're here, Sam, you make me happy, and we want to spend the rest of our lives chasing the same dreams together." She smiled, blushing. "And as far as I'm concerned, that makes you perfect."

The Irishman looked insulted. "I am not." But then he grinned.

She laughed, then sobered. "There more's to life than just stories, Séamus Flynn." She pressed his hand to her lips. "Much more." She smiled fondly at him, then started to lay down again.

"Don't get comfortable, _a stór_," Sam said, gently slipping his leg out from under her head, "There's somethin' happenin' at the helm I think yeh need t' be a part of, First Mate Grey."

Squirrel smiled at the use of her title. "Help me up, then."

"Yeh're no cripple. Yeh can do it yehself."

"That's an order!"

Sam sighed wearily, then lightly picked Squirrel up and handed her the crutch. "Aye, m'lady, aye."

"Do I detect a hint of disrespect in your tone, Master Flynn? Being a little insubordinate, perhaps?"

He gave a wicked grin at her teasing. "With an arse like yours, how can I not be?" And he winked, prompting a short burst of giggles from Squirrel, before the two of them walked together across the deck.

"Gents, I give you… The fountain of youth!" Barbossa's proclamation was met with less enthusiasm than he'd expected. He held up the bamboo map, staring through the hole that had been cut through the heart of it. "Sparrow," he snarled, rolling his eyes in defeat.

"Oh dear," Squirrel called out as she got close, "Outfoxed again, Hector?" She shrugged. "That must hurt."

Barbossa was in no mood to play games. "One more word of out of you, Miss Grey, and ye'll be walkin' the plank!"

"Oh, come now, Captain," Sam stepped in, slipping an arm around Squirrel's waist. "What kind of a lookout would Squirrel here be if she didn't see this coming?"

Most of the crew went silent, doing only a pantomime of their chores in order to watch this exchange.

Barbossa stared for a long moment, looking between Squirrel and Sam with curiosity and suspicion. "What," he asked, keeping his tone as civil as possible, "Is it ye be sayin' there, Master Flynn?" The monkey climbed up on the railing to get a better look at Squirrel, and chewed on its tail.

"Well," Squirrel shrugged, shifting her weight off her crutch and onto her good leg, "He's saying that I just might possibly have made copies of the chart, and that these…" She pulled a collection of papers out from her pocket, "These just might be them…"

The monkey gave a screech and leapt at her, trying to grab the papers, and Barbossa himself went to the railing to grip the wood greedily.

"Ah ah ah!" Squirrel tucked the papers back in her pocket as the monkey leapt up onto her shoulder. She shook a finger at him admonishingly. "You're not getting them that easily." She smiled pleasantly at Barbossa.

"Is this the thanks I get?" Barbossa asked, burring in anger. "I made ye First Mate of the _Black Pearl_!"

Sam tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yeh know, _a stór_, I seem t' remember a story about the First Mate of the _Black Pearl_ a long while back…"

"Really? I think I've heard that one too. A different version, perhaps, but the same story."

The captain of the _Black Pearl_ smiled amicably at her as he climbed down from the helm and stood before her. "Does our friendship count for naught, angel?" He asked, all hurt and sincerity as the monkey climbed up onto his shoulder and made big sad eyes at her.

"I can't sail a friend-ship," Squirrel retorted with a smile. "I want a ship of my own. Think you can catch me one?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, sarcasm oozing from his words. "Oh, and I s'pose ye want t' be captain, too?"

"Naw," she shook her head and shrugged. "Not me. The power would go right to my head. I was thinking someone a little more… Irish." Sam smiled pleasantly at Barbossa, who scowled back. "Think about it, Hector," Squirrel said, getting his attention again. "Two ships, one flag. The makings of your very own pirate fleet."

Barbossa looked levelly at Squirrel, his expression unreadable.

Sam once again offered his opinion. "It's a win-win, Captain. And ye got to admit them's pretty decent winnings."

The captain closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in a defeated and slightly irritated sigh. "… Fine." He held out his hand, scowling. "I'm beginnin' t' understand why it is that women are seen as bad luck aboard ships. Give them an inch and they take a mile."

"I love you too, Hector," she grinned as she shook his hand. "Head for Cuba, and let me know if you see a ship my size."


	35. Adieu

**Disclaimer**: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to everyone who has staked a legal claim to it. I wrote this fanfiction out of love and inspiration.

**A/N**: I think the reason it took this long to get the final chapter done was because it was so hard to say goodbye…

* * *

"Hrm."

"Yeah. I know."

"It's…"

"Mmm."

"Well…"

"Hrm."

Squirrel and Barbossa stood at the railing, looking down to the vessel floating just a few yards from where the _Black Pearl_ had come to a halt in the open sea. The focus of their attention was a small blue-and-white clipper, a little weather-beaten but otherwise in seemingly perfect condition. At the front, a buxom figurehead was notching an arrow onto a bow as she stared out to the horizon.

"It could be a trap," Barbossa suggested uneasily.

"I doubt it," Squirrel said, though without much certainty. "I think she's pretty much given up on me now that she's been released. Besides, she's got Davy Jones to distract her." She paused, biting her lip. "Still… it's far too much of a coincidence that our old clipper shows up again after all this time."

"It could be a gift, then?"

"She doesn't owe me anything…"

"Well, whatever the case, the old sayin' holds true," Barbossa shrugged. "Never look a gift horse in th' mouth."

"This is Calypso we're talking about, Hector. Since when have any of her so-called 'gifts' done us any good?"

He nodded sagely, and scratched his chin in thought. The monkey, sitting on Squirrel's shoulder, aped the gesture. "Well," he said finally, "Could just be a pleasant coincidence." He caught Squirrel's eye, and knew from her expression exactly what she thought of that. "Well, have ye any way of knowing whether it's not?"

"Sam?" She waved him over, "Get me a line with a grapple." When it was brought it to her, Squirrel tied one end of the line to the _Pearl_'s railing, and hurled the grappling hook as far as she could. It fell about ten feet too short, and splashed harmlessly into the sea.

Barbossa shrugged at her. "It was easy enough t' miss even at that distance."

"Don't patronise me," she teased, turning to smile at him. "I meant to do that."

"Ye aimed t' miss?" He raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Why?"

She looked back; so did he. Barbossa spluttered in surprise, and Squirrel bit her lip in grim confirmation as she beheld it. The grapple was firmly attached to the _Artemis_' railing, as though Squirrel's throw had been accurate. The little clipper hadn't moved at all from where it was bobbing on the briny marble sea.

"Well," Squirrel shrugged, trying to roll the unease off her shoulders, "She definitely wants me to have it. Maybe she feels she owes me an apology?" She smiled, then turned to Barbossa. "In any case, it's a ship, and you were here when we found it, so I feel it only right to honour my end of the bargain." She reached into the pocket she'd sewed on the inside of her shirt, and pulled out a collection of papers. The monkey on her shoulder started jumping up and down and chattering excitedly, and Barbossa grinned in triumph as he accepted them. He started holding them up to each other, comparing the sizes, trying to find out which pieces fit where, trying to recreate the concentric rings of Sao Feng's map.

Squirrel picked up her crutch, placing it under one arm, and started limping back across the deck. She got about halfway before the monkey scolded, and she heard Barbossa comment in the same tone, "Angel, there be a piece missin'."

"Of course, Hector!" Squirrel made an awkward stump-walk-stump-walk turn until she was half-facing Barbossa again. "The _Pearl_'s the fastest ship in the Caribbean. We'll be hard-pressed keeping up with you… unless you had a reason to wait for us."

Barbossa started grinding his teeth, but managed to turn his irritation to something like grudging respect. "I taught ye too damn well," he grizzled.

She laughed. "Oh, come on, Hector. It's not like you're losing anything by all this."

"'Cept time," Sam commented, as he slid down from the rigging, "An' maybe pride."

"Sam!" She gave him a look.

He shrugged. "What? It's true!" He laughed and dodged Squirrel's playful punch.

Barbossa gave a weary sigh at the antics of the pair of them. "Make fast," he ordered, "And see to it that we don't leave the _Artemis_ behind this time." With the handfuls of papers Squirrel had left him, he retired to his cabin, to try and puzzle out, as best he could.

Squirrel watched him go, the smile slowly fading from her face.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Sam asked, quietly.

But she just shook her head. "To your station, Master Flynn," she said, limping to the stern, to watch as sailors secured the clipper.

* * *

It was a fair evening, cool but not cold, with a warm trade wind still bringing some of the day's lingering heat to where it was needed. Squirrel lifted her eyes skyward, to watch the wind as Jack had taught her, while she flipped a card between her fingers.

"Feels the same," she murmured, to no-one but herself. "Hmm."

She turned her attention to the stars, to the shapes in the heavens that pointed the direction to lands beyond the horizon. There, that same constellation there was one she'd seen in Singapore. And that one there was on the horizon when they sailed past Arabia, and that one there was high when they passed the Cape of Storms. The maps may have been laid out flat and filled in by cartographers and conquering kings, but that didn't make the world any less round. There was no end to it, in the same way that there would be no end to the stories. Endings and beginnings were indistinguishable from each other, sometimes. And, occasionally, just the same.

Shifting her weight from her crutch to her leg, a mannerism that made her seem like the parrot restlessly dancing on Cotton's shoulders, Squirrel shuffled the lone card back into the deck absently, letting her thoughts drift. The sound of the sailcloth and the ropes and pulleys was soothing and familiar, as were the waves gently breaking across the prow of the _Pearl_, and breaking on the beach and shoals off into the distance. The night brought all the sounds in perfect clarity. It was the life she'd grown used to, and could not ever imagine turning her back on. And yet here she was, smiling to herself, and thinking of making an end of it.

Three years, maybe a little more. It was impossible to remember the exact date. But on an evening that felt exactly the same as this, she'd run from her old life, opting to risk life and limb with a man she'd idolised. She'd chosen freedom. Now, tonight, her wings were itching for flight again.

She drew a card at random, looked at it without seeing it, then slipped it back with its brothers and put the whole deck back into the pouch at her belt. But she couldn't keep her hands still; they reached for her amulet, to fiddle with it out of habit. She smiled as she rubbed her thumb around its edges, around and around and around. Her hand went to her ear, to the silver hoops Ana had given her, and traced that endless circle again.

"It never really ends," she murmured, smiling. "Does it? No, not really."

Squirrel looked down at the clipper, moored to the _Pearl_ like a leashed dog to its master. The _Artemis_ had come back - or been sent back, it didn't matter now - and the night was quiet, with a breeze enough to fill the sails and currents that traced their lines all across the globe, and dreams and adventures promised with each new moment.

And she possessed the freedom to chase them.

In a moment of old familiar melancholy, she thought back to all the mistakes she'd made. Planned betrayals, lies and hurtful words, loneliness and bitterness and regret. And yet she had to smile. All those things were but stepping stones to this point; they had helped her grow and made her strong. And she was glad for that, thankful she'd lived to learn and find a balance, not to have been lost to the emotions that had once consumed her or the logic which had choked her.

Squirrel held up her amulet, looking at it in the starlight, then to the full moon which shone above. Round, a silver coin. Round, like the world. Round, like the silver compass etched with 'to help you find your way'. Round, like the stories, where beginnings and ends were the same. She smiled again, tucked her amulet back under the collar of her shirt, then hitched herself onto her crutch and made the awkward journey across the deck, to the captain's cabin. She knocked, no longer afraid to do so, and let herself in.

Barbossa was sitting at his desk, a dark shadow in the candlelight, staring at the map pieces he had. He glanced up at Squirrel as she moved over to stand before him. "Can I help ye, First Mate?" There was bitter irony in his tone as he picked up his goblet of wine and sipped from it.

She had to smile. "I've had my fun," Squirrel said, pulling out the last piece of paper and placing it where it would fit. She leant back to smile at him, at his incredulity, and leant nonchalantly on her crutch. "And wish you all the best for you and your crew, sir."

He looked up at her, amazed. "Angel, ye… Ye're leaving?"

"Aye," she smiled, a little fond and a little sad at the same time. "It feels right." She paused a moment, then added, "I don't think I need to say goodbye. After all, we might meet again." She smiled.

There were so many questions that could be asked, so many things that could be said. But the two of them, who'd danced together, laughed together, mourned together, and were the first to greet each other the night he returned from the eternal cold, knew each other too well to spoil this with unnecessary words.

Barbossa set his wine aside, and smiled slowly. "Aye, that we may, angel. That we may. Though," he grinned, "With that little shoal-skipper? Ye'll be hard-pressed t' keep up with me ship."

"My ship, Hector," Squirrel corrected. "Remember? The _Black Pearl_ belongs to me. You're just taking care of it until I get back."

He chuckled, then tilted his head her, curious. "And when will ye be back?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "When it's right, I suppose."

"When it's right," he repeated, nodding. "Ah, of course." He looked down at the now-completed copy of the map, then back up to Squirrel. "Are ye sure ye don't want t' stay one more day? D'ye have to leave right now?"

She smiled. "Thankyou for the offer, Hector. But… no. Thankyou, but no. The wind's turned in my favour, and so…" She craned her head back, rolling tension from her shoulders. "I leave the Fountain of Youth to you; I've my own treasure-seeking do."

"And what is it ye're after?"

"I guess I won't know until I find it."

Barbossa rose to his feet, stepping out from behind the desk. "Ye won't be forgotten, angel," he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it like a proper gentleman. "Ye can be assured of that."

"And I won't forget you," she said, stepping forward into his arms and kissing him gently on the cheek. He blinked, surprised, then smiled fondly, avuncular, at her. She smiled back, then hitched up her crutch under her arm and limped out of the cabin. "Adieu, Captain Barbossa!"

"Adieu, Miss Grey."

She closed the door quietly, and made her limping way across the deck. She got about halfway before she paused again, glancing around. So much of this was familiar, so much of this was home. "I hope I come back soon," she murmured to no-one, to herself, to the _Pearl_. There was no answer, but then she wasn't expecting one. "Fare thee well."

There was a voice softly singing, a song she'd heard only once or twice since she'd set foot on this ship. And yet the words stirred something in her, just as much as the song of the _Pearl_, or the song of blood and bone, or the song of Tia and Jones, or the song that bound Elizabeth and William together. But this song, while not one of her own, resonated sure and strong in her blood.

"_A stór mo chroí_, when the evening's mist over mountain and sea is falling… Won't you turn away from the throng…"

"And maybe you'll hear me calling," Squirrel sang back, as she crossed her way to the railing, and looked down at the sea.

Sam's easy grin shone back at her, brighter than the light of the moon. "So I see yeh did." He took hold of a rope, and motioned for Squirrel to hold onto the line he'd tied for her. Squirrel did so, holding onto her crutch and the rope tighter as she was lowered into the waiting clipper, and to the arms of the Irishman.

"Are we ready to make way, Master Flynn?"

"Aye, aye." He gestured with one hand to indicate the _Artemis_. "Enough supplies to last us a week, and a little more besides." He grinned. "I took my duties as quartermaster very seriously; neither the _Black Pearl_ nor we will be wanting for anything."

"Except for me, of course. And in that case, it's the _Pearl_'s loss."

"True," Sam nodded, as he sat Squirrel gently down at the tiller. "But my gain." He laid the crutch beside her, and took hold of the lines. "Ready to cast off."

There was a screech, and a bundle of fur scrabbled down the ropes and across to curl itself up in Squirrel's lap. Sam recoiled, first out of surprise, and then out of fear. "What on earth be THAT?!"

Squirrel ran her fingers over the monkey's head fondly. "I'd forgotten you hadn't seen Jack in the moonlight."

"Jack?" Sam stared. "That's Barbossa's pet? What in heaven's name is wrong with it?!"

The monkey gave an admonishing screech at Sam. Squirrel chuckled and explained, "One of the stories. One of the first ones. The curse of the _Black Pearl_." The monkey cooed as she continued to pet it.

Sam clutched at his heart, though it was hard to tell whether he was being serious or not about the severity of the fright. "Little bastard…"

"Jack, you can't come with us." Squirrel held up the hank of bone and tattered fur that was he monkey. "You have to stay here, with the _Pearl_. Do you understand? You can't come with me."

The monkey gave a heartbroken coo, and tried to reach out and pat Squirrel's face.

"Oh no, _a stór_," Sam said warningly. "I know that look. He's not coming with us."

"Of course he's not," Squirrel said, trying to ignore the pleading look in the monkey's eyes. "He's staying here. With the _Pearl_… We have to… We have…" She gave up trying.

Sam sighed heavily. "Seems like I'm always playing second-fiddle to one Jack or another," he said, with a resigned expression. "If not Sparrow, then this fellow."

"Oh, stop it, Sam," Squirrel said, as the monkey gave a triumphant squeak and scrambled up to curl up on her shoulder. "You know that's not true."

Sam just grunted and gave the monkey a dirty look as he let loose the lines. But once Squirrel started laughing, so did he, and his kiss let her know that all was forgiven.

"Where to, darling of me heart?" He asked, as the _Artemis_ turned out and took the wind in her sails.

Squirrel looked out across the water. The moonlight shone down, lighting a path across the marble sea; the stars pointed the way to everywhere and anywhere. There were shores to be explored, towns to be visited, old friends and new to be sought out. _Where to?_ Where to, indeed. The whole world was unfurled before them. They could go anywhere they wanted. It was only a matter of where first.

Squirrel's stomach growled, suddenly and loudly. Both the monkey and Sam raised an eyebrow at her.

She pressed her lips together in a prim smile. "India," she said, "I think I need a curry… and a box of _pada_."

The Irishman threw back his head and laughed; she laughed along with him, their laughter rising in accord. The _Artemis_ bore them over the water, under the stars and across the marble moon-spangled sea.

With the wind in her hair, Squirrel felt like she was flying; she could only smile.

* * *

**A/N**: Thankyou for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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